


Bringer of Balance

by the5leggedCricket



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, BAMF Merlin, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Immortal Merlin, Prophecy, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-04 21:06:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5348510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the5leggedCricket/pseuds/the5leggedCricket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a Vates prophesizes that "the son of Dragons will bring back the balance of Albion, between Old and New, between muggles and magic," Arthur Pendragon is hailed as a hero by all and sundry.<br/><br/>No one is surprised when he is sorted into Gryffindor, the house destined to bring forth the greatest heroes. The attacks on his life however, somehow are a surprise. Luckily Merlin Ambrosius, Slytherin and all-around sarcastic sceptic, is there to make sure Arthur stays with his two feet on the ground, grounded and, more importantly, alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the5leggedCricket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the5leggedCricket/gifts).



> This work is dedicated to me, myself, and I, because I love HP crossovers and there's not nearly enough of them. What a sad world it is where you have to write the stuff you want to read yourself. Pity me.
> 
> There are a couple (just a couple) of quotes, both from the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling and from BBC's Merlin. No copyright infringements intended.
> 
> The story is beta'd by the lovely lovely [ambrosius](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ambrosius). All remaining mistakes are my own.

Merlin pulled his hands away from the earth. He stepped back to check he hadn’t missed a spot, but everything around him felt healthy, clean. With his magic he called out to all the life that had fled and was hiding somewhere in the surrounding woods, and he could tell that as soon as they felt the soothing touch on their minds, they got ready to make their way back to him, to the nests and homes they’d abandoned.  
  
Merlin smiled, and for a second contemplated staying a little while longer. After all, nature wouldn’t mind his presence, and he kind of liked the crispness of the air and the creatures that had alerted him to the deplorable state of this remote part of the world.  
  
He had no idea how much time had passed since the Vilia had come to him for help. Time had no meaning for him anymore. Ever since he’d ceased to care about the stand of the stars and moon, and the ever darkening and lightening of the skies, he’d found peace within himself. There was only the present—the time between the once and the future—and as long as that future would arrive, as he knew it one day would, he was content to pass the time by saving the world by himself, piece by piece. He was immortal; an overabundance of time was sort of part of the description.  
  
Merlin rolled his shoulders absentmindedly. Staying here would be nice indeed, he thought. But right at that moment something slammed into his mind. He stumbled back a couple of steps and struggled to keep himself upright. The calming presence of the approaching animals in his mind fled. He couldn’t feel anyone anymore. Gasping for breath, Merlin swivelled around. He was still standing in the middle of a clearing alone. Then his mind felt like it was exploding and with a shout he dropped to his knees, clutching his head.  
  
There was a wordless screeching, and he swore under his breath. It had been many years  since he’d last gotten a message from the Old Religion. Fruitlessly massaging his temples, he tried to let it know he was listening, and could they please tone it down a bit? Suddenly there was a flash of thunder, turning everything black before his eyes, leaving his mind eerily empty. Merlin waited for a heartbeat, and then he knew what it wanted.  
  
 _Typical. First it wants me as far away from Camelot as possible, and now I need to go back right the fuck now?_ But then the realisation dawned on him. He needed to go back to Camelot! Could it— What if it meant that— But no, surely it wouldn’t. Camelot wasn’t in danger. Several wars had passed, not the least of which were world wars, with no sign of Arthur. Why would he be waking up now of all times?  
  
Merlin brushed away the hope. The Old Religion was technically very abstract, not a living entity with a conscious, but something more, something ambrosial. Somehow Merlin always knew what he was meant to be doing, when magic needed him to act, and he couldn’t help but feel that it would hear his messages in return. So he told whoever was listening that he was already on his way and not to worry. With that thought, he grabbed his backpack and started walking towards civilisation and an airport. But again, magic had another idea. Before he knew what was happening, he was being sucked through time and space, and was left thrown on the ground in yet another forest.  
  
“What in Avalon’s name—”

An uneasy feeling crept over Merlin. This was not normal. What was going on? Why was he suddenly being transported? It was useful, Merlin wasn’t going to deny that, but in all the years he’d lived, he’d never found a spell to transport himself from one place to another within seconds. He knew that other wizards were capable of doing it, but that new form of magic had never sat well with him, and after a bit of experimenting, he’d firmly turned his back to that whole world. So what in Avalon’s name was going on? What could be so urgent that the very laws of the Old Religion were being thwarted?  
  
He rubbed his head, tense all over, but before he could get up, he felt himself grow ice cold and suddenly scaldingly hot. His magic started boiling in his veins, burning him from the inside out. He fell backwards with a shout. His muscles locked into place, and his body shook with spasms. Having lost all control over his limbs, he knocked his head against the ground. He hardly noticed it however, as something was attacking his mind. His brain felt like it didn’t fit in his skull anymore, and his nerves were crawling under his skin, trying to claw their way out. He felt as dead and cold as when the Dorocha had touched him, while his organs were blistering under the fire of a dragon. His eyes rolled around in their sockets when blurry red changed into the blessed black of unconsciousness.


	2. From the Hospital to Hogwarts

Minerva hurried towards “Purge and Dowse, Ltd.” She’d lost track of time checking in on the Gryffindor common room, and was now late. After a cursory glance to make sure that no one was watching her, she stepped through the window. Immediately the bustle of the street was replaced by a serene silence of St. Mungo’s that was only interrupted by hushed whispers and the voice of the Welcome Witch.  
  
Minerva didn’t hesitate as she strode towards the elevators. Despite it stopping at every level before the one she needed, the elevator reached the fourth floor in no time at all. Minerva walked out and turned left. The doors swung open before her, and she navigated through the ward, between rows of beds, and didn’t stop until she was nearly at the end of the room.  
  
She came to a halt next to a very tall, intimidating man. He was dressed in green robes that did nothing to hide his impressive figure. He had hair to match his robes, and even his dry skin seemed to glow with a faint green, which made it seem scaly.  
  
“Sorry for the delay, Albus,” Minerva said.  
  
Albus Kilgharrah chuckled lowly and said, “Not to worry, he has yet to wake,” around the pipe that was almost always dangling from between his lips.  
  
She ignored the health hazard that only the headmaster could get away with, and instead watched the boy in the bed they were standing in front of. He was small for his age, and so pale that he could barely be distinguished from the blankets he was drowning in, only his black hair providing a stark contrast.  
  
Minerva and Albus stood side by side for several more minutes, observing their new charge, until he finally stirred, slowly regaining consciousness. Minerva walked up to his side, and gently touched his shoulder.  
  
The boy groaned softly and his eyelids fluttered open. His eyes darted around, seemingly confused as he took in his surroundings.  
  
“Merlin?”  
  
He turned his head towards her, and she reassured him with a small smile.  
  
“Where am I?”  
  
“Hi, Merlin. I’m Minerva, and this is Albus. You’re in St. Mungo’s.”  
  
He still looked confused, and she hurried to explain. “A hospital in London for witches and wizards.”  
  
“What happened?” He looked at her curiously, though he seemed rather calm for someone surrounded by strangers, but Minerva wasn’t going to complain. It wouldn’t be very helpful if he was in near hysterics or too frightened to listen to them.  
  
“Actually, we were hoping you could tell us. We’ve been trying to find you for a while now, but it was just yesterday we found you unconscious in the woods.”  
  
“You’ve been trying to find me?” Albus still didn’t say anything, letting Minerva do the explaining, but she wondered what he was making of this boy that didn’t care about being found unconscious. In the woods. With a gap in his memory.  
  
“Yes. We wanted to give you this.” She pulled an envelope out of her pocket and handed it over to him. None of their owls had been able to find Merlin, so she’d taken to carrying his letter around herself, but even so she hadn’t had any luck in locating him either. If her map hadn’t lighted up with his name yesterday, she doubted they would’ve ever known where to look. It was as if he’d vanished off the face of the Earth. Minerva had always been proud of her job as Headmistress, and it mystified her how a student had almost slipped through the mazes of the net. If they hadn’t found him, he wouldn’t be able to go to Hogwarts, and he’d have missed out on his magical education because of her.  
  
He unrolled the parchment and read his admittance to Hogwarts.  
  
“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?” He gripped his parchment tighter and brought it closer to his face, eyes flying over the page as he read all the information. Minerva knew the letter by heart by now, after writing letter after letter after letter for years on end.  
  
_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY  
  
Headmaster: Albus Kilgharrah  
(Order of Emrys, First Class, Grand Sorc., Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)  
  
Dear Mr. Ambrosius,  
  
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  
  
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.   
  
Yours sincerely,  
Minerva McGonagall,  
Deputy Headmistress_  
  
When he had seemed to stop reading, she said, “As our owls were unable to deliver this letter to you on time, and even though it is rather late, we will still accept your admittance to Hogwarts.”  
  
Merlin looked up and dropped the letters into his lap. “Rather late? Wait, what date is it?”  
  
“31 August.”   
  
Merlin’s mouth dropped open and he gaped at her before grabbing the letters again and reading the second one. Again, Minerva could recite it perfectly.  
  
_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY  
  
UNIFORM  
  
First-year students will require:  
  
\- Three sets of plain work robes (black)  
\- One pair of protective gloves  
\- One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)  
  
Please note that all pupils’ clothes should carry name tags  
  
COURSE BOOKS  
  
All students should have a copy of each of the following:  
  
\- The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk  
\- A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot  
\- Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling  
\- A Beginners Guide to Transfiguration by Emetic Switch  
\- One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore  
\- Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jgger  
\- Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander  
\- The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble  
  
OTHER EQUIPMENT  
  
\- Wand  
\- Cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) set  
\- Glass or crystal phials  
\- Telescope set  
\- Brass scales  
  
Students may also bring an owl and/or a lizard  
  
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS  
  
_ “You will need to go to Diagon Alley as soon as possible. If your guardians can’t take you, you may borrow some secondhand books, but you need to have a robe at the very least.”  
  
Minerva watched Merlin’s face closely, curious for his reaction. It hadn’t escaped anyone’s notice that when he had been found, he’d been all alone, and that there was yet anyone to come looking for him. His parents had been off the grid for years, and none of the official instances had received any new information about them in all that time.  
  
His eyes shuttered close, and he leant his head back. Instead of sinking into the plush pillow, it barely made a dent. His hands trembled as they placed the letters back into his lap. Minerva raised an eyebrow at Albus, but still he didn’t say a word, choosing to let it all play out.  
  
Merlin swallowed and smacked his lips. He opened his eyes and glanced around, and Minerva handed him the glass of water that had been sitting on his nightstand.  
  
“Thanks,” he said, and drained the glass in one go. When it was empty and back on the nightstand, he rubbed his hands, and kept his eyes locked on them. “My mother is dead and my father, he is…far away. I live on my own.”  
  
Minerva had expected something of the sort, but she couldn’t help feeling saddened at the thought, and it made her dread the answer to her next question.  
  
“Where do you live?”  
  
Merlin shrugged. “In the woods.” He seemed genuinely unbothered by it.  
  
Albus stepped forward and spoke for the first time. “Professor McGonagall will chaperone you to Diagon Alley and help you get all your stuff. She can get you an allowance in Gringotts, and arrange for you to stay the night at The Rising Sun.” He turned towards her. “I trust you to take care of this?”  
  
She glanced coolly back, thinking, “Really, the kid just told you he lives in the woods, and _this_ is all you have to say?”  
  
He met her gaze unwaveringly, and she could just see his internal shrug. _What do you want me to do about it? Look at him, he’s fine._  
  
Minerva suppressed a groan. He might be a great wizard, but sometimes she wondered who had had the brilliant idea of putting Albus in charge of a bunch of kids.  
  
She threw another reassuring smile towards Merlin. “Of course, Headmaster. Merlin’s arm should be healed, and as soon as the nurse clears him, we’ll be on our way.”  
  
Albus nodded magnanimously. He inclined his head to her and Merlin respectively, and left without another word. On his way out, he passed a nurse, whom he waved their way.  
  
Before they knew it, Merlin was declared free to go and he was back in his dirty old clothes, complete with a small backpack slung over his back. Minerva was still going to let Gaius, the in-school physician, take a look at his memory loss, but until he was at Hogwarts, that would have to wait.  
  
  
When they left the quiet hospital and stepped onto a street full of Muggles in the middle of London, Merlin flinched back. Minerva laid a comforting hand on his left shoulder and squeezed it gently.  
  
“Sorry,” he muttered. “‘m not used to the city.”  
  
Though this was a fairly calm street, she didn’t want to expose him too long to the busier parts of London, so she quickly guided him through the streets towards The Rising Sun. Merlin stumbled over a tile and his own feet into passersby a couple of times, and each time his apology grew quieter. It didn’t take long for him to keep silent entirely, his eyes cast downwards. By the time they reached the dingy pub that was The Rising Sun, Minerva had to almost drag him along, steering him between the pedestrians.  
  
The bell clanged shut behind them, and she patted him. “Almost there.”  
  
His white-knuckled grip on the strap of his backpack relaxed somewhat, and she saw him dart a look from under his fringe.  
  
Only a couple of guests had looked up at their entrance, and they seemed to notice Merlin’s discomfort, for they only greeted Minerva and went back to their interrupted conversations at once. She returned their greetings without stopping, making her way swiftly towards the back door.  
  
She loosened her hold on Merlin’s shoulder to grab her wand and tap the correct bricks to open the door to Diagon Alley. The wall before them vanished into thin air, and Merlin gasped.  
  
Minerva’s lips twitched in response. “Welcome to Diagon Alley.”  
  
Merlin unconsciously moved forward, and she followed him. “Our first stop is Gringotts.”  
  
She laid her hand back on his shoulder, not wanting to risk losing him for even a second, and led him along the main boulevard. It was probably best she did, as his head kept swivelling back and forth to take in all the shops with their strange merchandise.  
  
“Is it always this overwhelming?”  
  
“Just the first couple of times. Once you can do some magic of yourself, you’ll get used to all of this,”—she made an all-encompassing motion with her free arm—”in no time.”  
  
He frowned at that, but when he opened his mouth to say something, they were stopped by a goblin in front of Gringotts. Minerva bowed, and Merlin followed her example, shooting nervous glances at the blue creature.  
  
She allowed him a second to read the warning at the second pair of doors—  
  
_Enter, stranger, but take heed_  
Of what awaits the sin of greed,  
For those who take, but do not earn,  
Must pay most dearly in their turn.  
So if you seek beneath our floors  
A treasure that was never yours,  
Thief, you have been warned, beware  
Of finding more than treasure there.  
  
—but then nudged him along. They still had a lot to do and only so little time to do it.  
  
They walked up to the counter.  
  
“Good morning. We’re here for Merlin Ambrosius’ school allowance.”  
  
The goblin pushed several forms over, and Minerva filled them in to the best of her efforts. However, she still had to leave a lot of lines blank, but she also knew that what little information they had would be enough. It was really all just a formality.  
  
Since Merlin didn’t have his own vault, they were not allowed to get the money themselves, and she couldn’t help feeling grateful for that fact. Minerva had never been a fan of the carts and the atrocious speeds at which they traveled.  
  
With the gold and silver pocketed, they were back outside in no time. The cauldrons, phials, telescope, scales, and books were bought with the same efficiency, and there was only a small hold-up after she bought them a couple of sandwiches, when Merlin saw the pet shop. He pressed his face against the window, cooing at a blue lizard.  
  
“Can I buy one? The list said pets were allowed, didn’t it?”  
  
“I’m sorry,” she said, feeling a pang of regret. “You don’t have the money to take care of it. There’s only just enough for your school equipment, and a lizard would require food and more.”  
  
He pouted, but didn’t protest when they left the pet shop behind them.  
  
“Second to last stop, Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions.”  
  
Once Madam Malkin got Merlin on the footstool with a dangerous amount of pins and needles sticking out of his fitting robes, she started tutting at him. Minerva grinned. It was nice to see someone else share her concerns about the boy.  
  
“Don’t worry about it. After a couple of meals at Hogwarts, there’ll be a lot more meat to his bones.”  
  
Madam Malkin grinned back at her, and happily continued fussing over him. Merlin looked to be uncomfortable with all the attention, but Minerva was enjoying the privacy of the shop and indulged herself. She wasn’t one for singling out students, but it couldn’t hurt to have someone keep an eye on him. With some luck, he would be in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. She was sure Professor Sprout would love to make sure Merlin got back to a proper health.  
  
Before too long the fitting was over and done with and they were on their way to the last shop.  
  
“Ollivander’s is the best in town. Also the only one in town, but that’s neither here nor there,” she said wryly, and Merlin chuckled as they entered the wand shop.  
  
It was dark inside, and Minerva wondered how Ollivander could still make high-quality wands after ruining his eyes for so long. Even when she’d bought her wand back in the day, the shop had been as it was now: dusty, dark, chaotic, and filled to the brim with wands.  
  
She tapped the little bell on the counter, and Ollivander appeared from somewhere in the back.  
  
“Afternoon, professor,” he said in a soft voice. He peered at Merlin through squinted eyes. “And who would this young man be?”  
  
“Merlin,” he said in an equally soft voice. “Merlin Ambrosius.”  
  
Ollivander hummed and thought for a second. “Ambrosius, you say? Doesn’t sound familiar.” He clapped in his hands, and Merlin jumped up. “Let’s see what wand chooses you.”  
  
“Chooses me?” Merlin asked, but Ollivander had already disappeared between the racks.  
  
“The wand chooses the wizard,” Minerva said, and Merlin looked around nervously, backing away slightly from the counter. However, he didn’t get far before Ollivander returned with a box in his hand.  
  
“Try this one.” He took out a long, thin wand and gave it to Merlin. “Go on, give it a wave.”  
  
Merlin lifted it into the air, and a flame erupted from the wand, nearly setting Ollivander on fire. He dropped it in shock before hastily picking it up and placing it back in its box, apologising all the while. As Ollivander went looking for another wand (“something more powerful, definitely”) Merlin looked even more uncomfortable, making Minerva think that she might have to physically stop him from fleeing if another incident like this occurred.  
  
Luckily, Ollivander didn’t take long and this time he handed Merlin a sturdy black wand.  
  
Merlin waved it in the air, and a gust of wind flew through the store, knocking over the shelf closest to them.  
  
“Could it be—?” Ollivander started saying, and then ran back to where he came from, hopping over the mess on the floor and muttering to himself.  
  
Minerva looked at Merlin and moved a little closer. The wands’ reactions were rather violent, but she tried to pass it off as normal. “Sometimes it takes a while for the right wand to come along. I’m sure Ollivander will find it for you.”  
  
Merlin nodded, not convinced. His hand was shaking slightly as he took the new wand Ollivander had brought up to the counter.  
  
He made a small movement, and this time there was even more wind, ruffling their hair beyond messy, and sending more wands flying through the shop. Minerva gritted her teeth. This was going to take a long time.  
  
And it did. By the end, Ollivander’s shop was near destruction, but he seemed utterly unperturbed by that, too busy gushing over the wand that had created a small rainbow that smelled like dew-covered grass at dawn and threw a multi-coloured light on every nook and cranny in the shop.  
  
“Whomping Willow, thirteen inches, with the scale of a dragon. One of the first ones I made, before I knew what works and what doesn’t. An experiment, really. How marvelous, I didn’t think this day would come.”  
  
Merlin tried to extricate himself from the tight grip Ollivander had on his hands in a very long and awkward handshake unsuccessfully.   
  
Minerva had never heard of a wand made of Whomping Willow, and would have loved to know what this meant for Merlin’s magical abilities as much as the next man—or in this case, Ollivander—but she was on a tight schedule. She needed to get back to Hogwarts for the last preparations, and Merlin still needed to be shown his room at The Rising Sun.  
  
She laid a hand on Merlin’s hair and said, “We should be going now. There’s still a lot of work to do.”  
  
Ollivander looked a bit sheepish. “Sure, of course. I understand. Well, Merlin, be sure to visit when you’ve got the time. I would love to hear from you!”  
  
Merlin promised he would, and then practically fled the shop, clutching his wand box and books to his chest. Minerva grabbed his robes and other equipment, and set on towards The Rising Sun.  
  
Merlin’s room was small, but it was only for one night, and she knew Tom, the owner, would treat him well. There would be a plate of stew set aside for him that evening, and in the morning he would get his share of breakfast. Merlin would be safe here.  
  
“Tomorrow you need to go to Paddington Station, platform 9 ¾. Just walk straight at the barrier between platforms 9 and 10, there’s a hidden entrance. The train leaves at 11 o’clock, so Tom’s going to wake you up in time and show you how to get to the station. Best of luck, and I’ll see you tomorrow at school.”  
  
She ruffled his hair, wanting to give him one last sign of affection before she would have to be authoritative tomorrow. He smiled at her, and the last thing she saw when she closed the door of his room, was how he walked to his window to look outside, a spring in his step.


	3. Dishonour On You, Dishonour On Your House

Merlin slept better than he had in a long time. His bed was soft and warm, there were curtains to shield his eyes from the early sunlight, and there were no chirping birds to rouse him at the crack of dawn. When Tom came to wake him, he got up resignedly, but the sight of a hearty breakfast put a quick stop to any complaints he might have had. Sausages, oatmeal, toast, apple juice, and three different kinds of jam made his mouth water, and he had to force himself to enjoy it all properly instead of simply shovelling it into his mouth.  
  
He sat alone at a table and watched the going ons. Tom served quite a few customers in the short time it took Merlin to empty his plate completely. Some were dressed in colourful robes, sometimes with the additional silly hat, but others were wearing fairly normal clothes, such as jeans or a suit. There was a sense of organised chaos as a waitress navigated between fiercely debating people to give a quiet man in a flashy blue dress robe his coffee, and Tom leant against the counter, a client’s owl perching on his shoulder.  
  
He looked up and met Merlin’s eyes. Tom’s gaze flickered to his plate, and when he saw it was empty, he walked over to pick it up.  
  
“You should go to your room to get ready. I already had a suitcase brought up. Be back down in...twenty?”  
  
He checked his watch and pressed a button. Merlin nodded and went upstairs, only to find the most old-fashioned suitcase he had ever seen waiting for him at the foot of his bed. He was already dressed, so he stuffed the rest of his clothes — basically one extra sample of what he was wearing now — and his new robes into the cauldron after wrapping them around the glassware he had bought yesterday. Together with the books and his wand box, the cauldron was a tight fit for the suitcase, so Merlin nudged at it with his magic, and the lock clicked shut.  
  
Exactly twenty minutes later Merlin was standing outside the pub, sticking out his “wand arm” — and how could they know what his wand arm was when he’d never even used a wand before — to call the Knight Bus.  
  
Feeling slightly sceptical, Merlin lifted his right hand, and was nearly hit by a gigantic bus. Its tyres screeched over the asphalt and the door was thrown open. Merlin sheepishly pulled his hand back and gathered his luggage.  
  
“Welcome to the Knight Bus. My name is Dagr and I will be your conductor today. Where to?”  
  
Not waiting on an answer, the man pulled Merlin’s suitcase out of his hands and disappeared inside. Merlin gripped the straps of his backpack and followed him inside the surprisingly spacious place that was filled with beds, chairs, and sofas.  
  
“Paddington Station, please. One-way.”  
  
Dagr stopped next to a table, and laid the suitcase on top of it, freeing his hands to fiddle with a ticket machine. Merlin gave him Tom’s coins, and made himself comfortable on one of the sofas.  
  
“We’ll be there in 5.”  
  
When Tom had warned Merlin that he might feel a bit dizzy after the bus ride, he’d given Merlin the impression that “a bit dizzy” meant “a lot nauseous” and that he would do well to stay near one of the rubbish bins that littered the bus. However, those fears were ungrounded, and Merlin found himself looking forward to the next time he’d need to use public transport.  
  
The bus was fast, there was no denying that as the beds rolled from left to right and front to back and the chandelier that hung from the top of the three-level bus swung dangerously. But still Merlin was able to take in every split-second motion of it. His eyes seemed to capture the whole drive in slow-motion, giving him the time to process every movement, and witness the capacity of the bus driver in the fullest detail. Moving in high speed that was slowed down so much that he was able to experience it at a normal tempo, made something flutter in his stomach, leaving him giddy with excitement. It was like sitting on a rollercoaster that led you on a gravity-defying route but left you unsure that you wouldn’t fall. The world was the driver’s very own amusement park, and it would be so easy for Merlin to get addicted to this particular brand of adrenaline.  
  
Alas, before he knew it, it was over, and he was walking towards platform 9 ¾.  
  
Merlin muttered to himself about the vague description of it that Professor McGonagall had given him. Yeah sure, just run full-speed at a wall and hope you picked the right one. No problem at all. And what kind of spot was that even? A magical barrier that non-magical people were not supposed to know about _in the middle of a place crawling with non-magical people_ . Because that made so much sense.  
  
He walked the platform up and down once and kept an eye out for anything peculiar. He didn’t have to wait long, as he neared a family with suitcases that were as out of fashion as his were. The owl might also have been a dead give-away.  
  
“Excuse me, could you point me the way to platform 9 ¾?” he asked the man. The girl and boy standing next to him looked curiously at Merlin.  
  
“Sure, Elyan and Gwen were just leaving. You can go with them.”  
  
The man crouched down and engulfed the girl in the most massive bear hug that Merlin had ever seen. Gwen giggled and smooched his cheek.  
  
“Be careful,” he said as he turned towards the boy. “Elyan, keep an eye on your sister, okay?”  
  
The boy saluted him jokingly, grabbed the trolley that had the owl and luggage on it, and pushed it towards a pillar. A second later he’d vanished. Gwen grabbed Merlin’s hand and pulled him along. One moment they were with the man and the next they were on a platform filled with people as extravagant as the ones in The Rising Sun. As soon as Elyan saw they were through as well, he strode towards the gigantic, bright red train that was filling the air with smoke.  
  
Merlin took a deep breath. Just as it had in Diagon Alley, the amount of magic users overwhelmed him. There was magic everywhere around him and his own magic reacted to it, buzzing excitedly. Gwen didn’t seem to be affected by it the way he was. Or maybe she was already used to it.  
  
“Sorry about my dad. He’s still getting used to the whole ‘magic is real’ thing. I’m Gwen, and that’s my brother Elyan."  
  
“I’m Merlin. Nice to meet you.” He grabbed her hand and shook it. Gwen looked surprised at him, and then turned around, giggling and blushing.  
  
They trailed behind Elyan. His confident stride made people step out of the way and they quickly reached the last carriage.  
  
“It’s less busy here. You don’t want to have to walk across the whole train to find an empty compartment,” Elyan explained.  
  
Their carriage was indeed quiet, and they had little trouble navigating their luggage to a free compartment. Gwen and Merlin took seats across from each other, and Elyan ruffled Gwen’s hair once the two were settled.  
  
“I’m going to find my friends now. Good luck at the sorting, sister. Nice meeting you, Merlin. Good luck to you too.”  
  
Merlin saluted Elyan much the same way he’d saluted his father, and Elyan grinned and returned it. Then he left, the door shutting softly behind him, and Merlin looked at Gwen. She smiled and said,  
  
“Sorry if he didn’t say much. Elyan tends to be quiet around people he doesn’t know, so sometimes people think he’s being rude.”  
  
“Well, I haven’t said much either, have I? No hard feelings.”  
  
Gwen threw her head back and laughed.  
  
“So he studies at Hogwarts as well?”  
  
“Yes, he’s in his third year now, in Slytherin. I wonder what house I’ll be sorted into.”  
  
She looked at him then with something akin to nerves. Merlin had no idea what reaction she was expecting, but when it didn’t come forth, she visibly relaxed. He guessed it had something to do with that Slytherin thing she’d mentioned, but he didn’t care enough about it to make her uncomfortable again.  
  
The background noise of students finding a seat got a lot louder. A boy had slid open their door and now stood awkwardly in the entrance.  
  
“Is there still a spot free? All the other seats are taken.”  
  
“Yeah, sure.” Gwen scooted over. The rack was full, so the boy placed his luggage on the bench next to Merlin and the cage with Gwen’s beautiful brown owl, and then plopped down, legs swinging a little.  
  
“I’m Gili.”  
  
Gwen introduced herself and Merlin, who waved once, and disarmed Gili completely with her bouncy curls and charming smile. While he tried to impress her with stories about what he’d gotten up to this summer, Merlin’s mind drifted off to a place between the many rolling hills they passed, until Gili said something that made Gwen gasp.  
  
“You set his curtains on fire? I thought that underages weren’t allowed to use any magic! My brother said that if you do, you can get prosecuted!”  
  
“That’s true, but it was accidental magic, so it’s not like I did it on purpose.”  
  
Merlin used magic all the time; a day didn’t go by when he used it for something. For one, he needed to make a fire every evening. Yet no one had come and arrested him for it. Maybe it had something to do with how Professor McGonagall had said that they couldn’t find him? A warning would’ve been nice, though. And how come if it was illegal, his father had never mentioned that to him? He’d encouraged Merlin to use magic, even. Balinor had said that with his magic he could take care of himself when he wasn’t there to do it for him. Right after, he’d left.  
  
He suppressed a sigh and leant his head against the window. He wondered where his father was now. He knew that when it was safe, he’d come back again, but that could be ages still, and the last couple of months had been very lonely ones for Merlin. Part of him was glad that however he’d ended up in the hospital, it had happened and Hogwarts had found him. There would be a lot of information there, and perhaps if he was lucky, he’d find something about what his father had gotten himself into this time. And if he didn’t, well, it was a _school_ so at least Merlin would learn something that might help for the next time. Then he’d be able to stand at his father’s side and watch his back.  
  
The door to their compartment opened once more, and Merlin was startled out of his thoughts to see that it had gone dark outside.  
  
“You kids want anything?”  
  
The grey woman gestured towards the cart in the hallway, laden with all sorts of colourful boxes, lollipops, and food.  
  
Gili started nodding, but when both Gwen and Merlin—despite his now grumbling stomach—said no, he too declined. The woman left, but not before the smell of waffles wafted towards them, making Merlin all too aware of how hungry he suddenly was.  
  
“If I’d known that the train ride would take so long, I’d have made a lunch packet.”  
  
But no one had bothered to tell him, and it had been hours since he’d had breakfast. How much longer would this ride take?  
  
“You can have some of my sandwiches if you like. I don’t mind sharing.”  
  
  
  
Merlin swallowed the last of his cheese sandwich when the train seemed to slow down. Gwen swore and jumped up.  
  
“We need to get dressed!”  
  
“Dressed?”  
  
“Yes, we’re almost there, and we need to wear our robes at school!”  
  
Merlin swore too. He took his suitcase from the rack and pulled it open, and all of his stuff promptly fell out. He grabbed one of the robes, and started to carefully arrange the rest back in the suitcase, but without magic it was an impossible task to fit everything in. Eventually, Gwen took pity on him.  
  
“Give me those books; I’ve still got a bit of room left. I’ll give them back to you later.”  
  
“Thank you!”  
  
The train whistled and came to a stop. They had arrived at Hogwarts.  
  
  
  
It had cooled down considerably and everyone huddled together on the platform, shivering and clutching their bags and cages with pets. A voice called out over their heads.  
  
“Welcome to Hogwarts, I’m Tyr! First years here, please! First years! Follow me, first years!”  
  
The man, looking shy as he tried to make himself heard over the noise of chattering students, repeated this until all the first years gathered around him. He then led them along a dark and narrow path towards the bank of a lake. The ominous, dark water was dotted with little boats that were spread over the length of the shore.  
  
“No more than four a boat! And try not to fall into the water.”  
  
Merlin, Gwen, and Gili shared a boat together. They remained silent while the boat glided through the water, occasionally gasping in awe and wonder at the white towers and the sheer enormity of the castle that became clearer the closer they got. It was a beautiful building, with thousands of windows and battlements and waving flags on the roofs, surrounded by miles and miles of woods that stretched far beyond the horizon.  
  
The boats brought them to the other side of the lake, where there was yet another winding path. By the time they reached the gates of the castle, everyone was dripping with sweat.  
  
Tyr showed them the room where they could drop off their luggage—finally.  
  
“Now, just follow those stairs. Professor McGonagall will be waiting for you.”  
  
The gaggle of kids quickly made their way to the top, and Merlin smiled at the woman standing in front of the big, wooden doors. He’d taken an immediate liking to Professor McGonagall, so he wasn’t really cowed by the stern look on her face.  
  
“Hello everyone, and welcome to Hogwarts. My name is Professor McGonagall, and in a short moment I will lead you into the Great Hall, where you can join the other students in our exquisite banquet. However, first you shall be sorted into your houses.  
  
“There are four different houses—Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor—with each of their own values, and you will be sorted according to which of those values you hold highest. Your house will be like your family as you will sleep, eat, and study together. For every victory, personal or otherwise, you can gain points for your house. Break the rules, and you will lose points. The house with the most points at the end of the year wins the House Cup.”  
  
Merlin frowned. The whole different houses thing, he kind of got that. However, it sounded like people with the same traits would be in close encounters with each other, which wasn’t always the best idea. But, he supposed, nobody would stop him if he wanted to hang out with someone different than him instead of an exact copy, or at least someone from another house, right? But to have an inter-house competition? To pit them against each other? Whose genius idea was that? He suppressed a groan.  
  
“The sorting ceremony will take place in a moment. I will return to escort you inside. I suggest that in the meantime you make sure you are presentable.”  
  
With a swoosh of her robes she left.  
  
“I heard that there’s going to be a test, and that we will have to fight _monsters_ ,” Gili said, loud enough for everyone to hear him.  
  
A boy left of Merlin said, “Don’t worry, girls. I will protect you.” He puffed his chest out, and a dark-haired girl, standing a little way behind them, snorted.  
  
“As if we would have to fight on our first day. And if we did, who’s to say we can’t protect ourselves?”  
  
The boy laughed at that. “Look at you, you’re a girl! Everyone knows that girls are too weak to fight.”  
  
The girl reddened in anger, and Merlin intervened before she could insult the boy back and a fight broke out. “Come on, that’s quite enough, my friend.”  
  
The boy turned towards him with an incredulous face. He openly gaped at Merlin as everyone around them began to whisper, but he paid no attention to them.  
  
“I’m sorry, do I know you?”  
  
Merlin stuck his hand out, waiting for the boy to shake it. “I’m Merlin.”  
  
“So I don’t know you.” Merlin’s hand was blatantly ignored. “Yet, you called me friend.”  
  
Just his luck to try to help and end up talking to the biggest dick ever. What an arrogant arse!  
  
“My mistake,” Merlin said, and the boy smiled, already turning back to his friends to continue on with whatever big-headed arseholes did when not insulting the rest of the world. Merlin smirked. “I could never be friends with such a prat.”  
  
Gwen gasped. Gili gasped. Everyone gasped. Then there was a great. Long. Silence.  
  
Arthur froze. Three whole seconds later, he turned back to Merlin, looking honestly shocked. “Do you have _any_ idea who I am?”  
  
Merlin did the sensible thing; he shrugged and kept his mouth shut. If he opened his mouth, only more insults would come out, and he began to get the feeling that they might not be well-received.  
  
“I am Arthur Pendragon.”  
  
A girl standing in the back squealed. The rest just looked back and forth at Merlin and Arthur.  
  
“Is that supposed—”  
  
The wooden doors swung open, and Professor McGonagall glared them all into a more or less straight line. As they entered the Great Hall, Merlin wondered what weird wizard-y line he’d just crossed. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.  
  
There were four tables, stretching across the room, with the accompanying benches filled with students clad in black robes.  
  
Merlin swallowed, for the first time he was feeling nervous. He still didn’t know how the sorting would happen, but what if he fucked it up somehow? Knowing his luck — and his clumsiness — something was bound to go wrong, and they’d all be here to witness it.  
  
As Professor McGonagall led them to the head table through the pathway between two of the impossibly long tables, Merlin heard gasps behind him. The tall boy that was before him in the line, looked up, and gasped as well, pointing at the ceiling.  
  
It was as dark as the night, blotted with tiny stars, and Merlin was reminded of a night not too long ago, when he’d been restless and unable to sleep. He’d stumbled across a clearing in the woods, and spent the night there, lying on his back and watching the universe stretch above him. Hanging from the ceiling were banners and flags, the colours and emblem depending on which table they were dangling above.  
  
Merlin collided with someone’s back, and dropped his gaze, noticing that they had reached the head table, where the other professors were seated. Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and once everyone had come to a standstill, told them to form a neat line again, with their backs facing the head table.  
  
When Merlin turned to face the other students, he realised that the tables weren’t completely filled as he’d first thought. Yes, there were a lot of students, but the places at the end were empty, despite there being plates and cutlery. At some tables, there were considerably less free spaces than at others. For example the one that was right of the path, with its yellow-black decoration, was nearly completely full, and the one next to it, with its blue-bronze flags, was also fairly occupied. However, the ones to the left were something else entirely. Students with red-golden ties peaking from under their robes took up only about half of the available space, and the table completely to the left, with its green and silver colours, had more free plates and cups than not.  
  
Professor McGonagall set a small, backless chair in front of them, and laid a battered old hat on top of it. To Merlin’s astonishment, a voice came from the hats direction and started to sing.  
  
"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,  
But don't judge on what you see,  
I’m older than that dragon,  
and know things he can’t foresee.  
I can read the minds of all and sundry  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
There's nothing hidden in your head  
that this Hat can’t get at.  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be.  
You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry  
set Gryffindors apart;  
You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true  
and unafraid of toil;  
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
if you have a ready mind,  
Where those of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind;  
Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means  
To achieve their ends.  
So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"  
  
Merlin and the rest of the first-years stared at the now silent hat while the rest of the room erupted in applause. Professor McGonagall looked at them with knowing eyes, and unrolled the scroll in her hands. Once the noise had died down, she spoke up.  
  
“I will now call your names one by one. When you hear yours, you will go sit on the chair and place the hat on your head. It will then sort you, and you will walk to the table of your new house.”  
  
Merlin nodded mutely. He felt Gwen, who was standing right next to him, do the same. He gripped her hand and squeezed once.  
  
“Abbot, Hannah.”  
  
A small girl with flashy green hair walked forward and sat down.  
  
“Hufflepuff!”  
  
The many students clad in yellow-black cheered, and Hannah took a seat at their table.  
  
“Ambrosius, Merlin.”  
  
Gwen squeezed his hand again, and he looked over at her. She smiled reassuringly, and he nodded before walking to the chair and putting on the hat. It was too big, even for someone with ears the size of his, and it slid over his eyes.  
  
“Look at that, not bad. Not bad at all.” The same voice from earlier—but this time a lot quieter—sounded in Merlin’s ears. But no, it wasn’t into his ears, not really. It seemed to be speaking directly into his mind.  
  
“What does that mean? Erm, can you even hear me?” Merlin thought, trying to send his thoughts to wherever he heard the other voice speaking.  
  
“Oh, hi there. Of course I can hear you; I did just say that I can read minds, didn’t I?”  
  
“I suppose. So...where will you be sorting me?” Merlin felt a bit weird, talking with his mind to a hat of all things, but the sensation of the soft drawling voice in his mind wasn’t entirely unpleasant.  
  
“Now, that is the question. There is definitely a lot of nerve here, and plenty of knowledge, loyalty, and resourcefulness.” The hat wobbled on his head, and Merlin imagined it was a man talking animatedly.  
  
“Are you saying I could fit in all of the houses?”  
  
“Yes indeed, but then again, who doesn’t? People aren’t some flat characters with only one trait.”  
  
“But then how do you know where to sort them?”  
  
“It’s a process of elimination. But let’s get on with it, there’s a lot of students still to sort after you.”  
  
“Oh yes, of course. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Don’t be. It’s nice for me to chat once in awhile. You’d be surprised at how boring it is to be a hat that only gets off its shelf once a year.” There was a bitter edge to its voice, and Merlin send a wave of sympathy the hat’s way. “Thanks, you’re very kind.”  
  
The sound of murmurs reached Merlin, and the hat straightened, his voice taking on a business-like tone. “On with the sorting. As I said, you’ve got all the qualities, so let’s try and eliminate some.  
  
“You’ve got a strong bond with your father, and you’re very loyal to him, but aside from that, there’s a severe lack of friendships and bonds with other people. Not really a social butterfly, are you? And your courage is more a complete and utter lack of self-preservation skills, and recklessness.  
  
“That leaves out Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. Mmm, I can see you’re witty, have knowledge and a thirst for more, but, I can see it now, it’s got nothing against your cunningness and willingness to do anything it takes to reach your objectives. You have a lot of ambition, and once you’ve found your true goal, you will fare well in this house, and it’ll provide you with the resources to reach your full potential.  
  
“There’s no doubt about it anymore; you belong in Slytherin!”  
  
Merlin took off the hat and was met by the sound of people applauding. The other tables were clapping their hands politely, but the few Slytherins were cheering, and with a grin he walked along the bench that was almost to the other side of the hall, where the small group was gathered.  
  
Elyan was sitting amongst them, and Merlin remembered Gwen mentioning that her brother was a Slytherin. Merlin sat down next to a boy with brown hair and blue eyes. Everyone greeted him enthusiastically before turning back to the front of the room, where by now a blond boy had taken his place on the chair.  
  
“Hufflepuff!”  
  
And thus a trend had begun. Most of the people that came next were either sorted into Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. At one point the table at the opposite side of the room was full, and all the Hufflepuff students had to shuffle closer together to make room for even more first-years.  
  
The sorting in and of itself was fairly boring, and after the first couple of names, people began to whispers amongst themselves. Merlin, too, started a conversation with the boys next to him, one of whom was called Owain, and the other was Gili, who had also been sorted into Slytherin.  
  
However, suddenly a hush fell over the hall, and Merlin noticed that everyone was straining their necks to catch a glimp of the boy who was walking forward now. It was the misogynistic prat from earlier, and Merlin wondered why everyone had reacted so...weirdly then, and why they were behaving just as strangely now.  
  
“What’s the matter?” he asked the rest of the Slytherins, hoping to finally figure out what the hell was going on.  
  
“That’s Arthur Pendragon!” Forridel, the ginger girl opposite him, said in a hushed whisper.  
  
“Yeah, I know, but what’s so special about him?”  
  
The people closest to Merlin stared at him, disbelief clear on their faces.  
  
“Gryffindor!” the hat shouted, and the Gryffindor students jumped up and went crazy. Frankly, their behaviour was a bit scary.  
  
“Go figure,” Owain muttered.  
  
“You don’t know who Arthur Pendragon is?” Forridel asked, and Merlin shook his head.  
  
“Nope.”  
  
Realisation dawned on her then. “You grew up with muggles then?”  
  
It took half a second for Merlin to understand what she was saying, but then he remembered McGonagall explaining to him that muggles were non-magical people.  
  
“Erm...I didn’t grow up amongst wizards, no, if that’s what you’re asking.” He didn’t want to lie and say he had grown up with muggles, but he also didn’t want to explain about living with a dad who had magic, but not _this_ kind of magic. He’d keep those cards close to his chest, or at least until he knew more about what it meant that he could do wandless magic in a world where no one even seemed to consider the possibility of its existence.  
  
The hall had quieted down again as the rest of the students got sorted. Forridel leant towards him over the table as she started whispering excitedly.  
  
“Years ago a Vates prophesied that ‘the son of dragons will bring back the balance of Albion, between Old and New, between muggles and magic.’ There were a couple of more details, but these are like _the_ most famous words ever. Everyone knows that it’s about Arthur, of course. I mean, son of dragons, Arthur Pendragon? The other details fit as well.”  
  
Owain nodded. “He’s the hero of the magical community, really. Arthur Pendragon coming to Hogwarts is huge. He’s ‘the Boy that Brought the Balance Back,’ the ‘Bringer of Balance,’ or in short ‘the Balance-Bringer.’ ”  
  
Dread sunk in Merlin’s stomach. Of course he’d insulted not a harmless nobody, but the one wizard that was practically being worshipped. How many people would be angry at him for insulting their hero? Not that he understood why someone would get so much praise for something he hadn’t even done yet, but that was another matter altogether.  
  
A girl slid onto the bench next to Forridel. They’d missed her sorting, but she waved off their apologies.  
  
“Nice to meet you guys. I’m Morgana. And I should be thanking you, Merlin,” she said, grinning at him. “You know, for telling Arthur off. Not that I needed the help, but if you hadn’t jumped in when you did, I would’ve hit him, and getting detention before school has even started is probably not the best idea.”  
  
“You told Arthur off?” Owain raised an eyebrow.  
  
“He was being a sexist.” Merlin shrugged as if that explained it all. Which, in his opinion, it did.  
  
Forridel chuckled. “Oh well, it’s not as if it wasn’t bound to go wrong sooner or later anyway.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Let’s just say that Slytherin and Gryffindor don’t have the best of relationships. They think that because we’re meant to ‘do anything to reach our goal’ we’re a bunch of selfish dicks, while they’re all noble and shit. And the fact that Slytherin has brought forth some very dark wizards obviously means that we are bound to become evil too. And the house known for its righteousness and general heroic image can’t have that of course,” she concluded in a sarcastic drawl.  
  
Merlin frowned. To him, the house rivalry had seemed like a bad idea from the start, and unfortunately he was being proven right already. House rivalry was one thing, house animosity however, was a different thing altogether.  
  
“Smith, Gwen.”  
  
His head shot up as Gwen walked confidently towards the chair, her curls bouncing up and down. She didn’t seem to care what house she was sorted into, or maybe she was sure of where she would end up.  
  
“Gryffindor!”  
  
Merlin did a thumbs-up and winked, letting her know that he didn’t care that they were in different houses—he still wanted to be friends with her, and hoped she did too. To his relief, she smiled broadly back and gave a small wave before sitting down next to Arthur.  
  
Three more people joined her at the table; one other boy, Daegal, got sorted into Slytherin; and the other remaining students were divided more or less equally between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff—their table could barely fit them all, and Merlin enjoyed the way their table stretched out far beyond Gili and Daegal, and even more so as he watched how the Hufflepuffs kept elbowing each other. At one point the girl at the end of the Hufflepuff table fell off the bench because the boy next to her accidentally knocked her off.  
  
Professor McGonagall put away the hat and the chair and took her place next to the man that had been there in the hospital. Albus something.  
  
From behind them, a flock of ghosts came swarming in, and a couple of girls and boys screamed in surprise or shock, Merlin didn’t know. The one ghost that floated towards the Slytherin table had a haunted look in his eyes—Merlin pointedly ignored the stains on his clothes that looked a remarkable lot like blood splatters, and focused on the look on his face—and he nodded solemnly at each and every Slytherin student.  
  
“Who are you?” Gili asked.  
  
“They call me the Bloody Baron,” he said, and sat down next to Gili, who didn’t seem all that happy about it. “So it’s the four of you then? That’s a record.”  
  
Merlin frowned in confusion, and Owain hastened to explain, “Usually there’s only two or three new Slytherins. Well, except for three years back, when Mab, Vivian, Oswald, and Ethan were sorted, so that was a good year too.”  
  
“Two years ago only Elyan got sorted into Slytherin,” Forridel said, driving the point home.  
  
Elyan caught Merlin staring and shrugged, giving him a wry smile. Now that Merlin paid closer attention, he saw that Elyan seemed to be isolated, caught between two groups, rather than being caught between his friends as Merlin had first assumed. On his left there were Forridel, Owain, Merlin, and the other first-years, and on his right there were the older students, engaged in their own conversation.  
  
“It’s been six years since Slytherin won the house cup. Six!” the Bloody Baron bemoaned, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe that his house was such a disappointment. “No wonder. There’s only 19 of you now, and there must be hundreds of those bloody badgers and eagles.”  
  
The Bloody Baron was already becoming a lot less scary than he had been a minute ago. Granted, he was still covered in blood—and Merlin could now see blood steadily dripping from his clothes onto the bench, table, and floor—and the dagger sheathed on his hip didn’t inspire a lot of comfort either, but at the moment he mostly seemed to care about house points and a stupid cup. Nevertheless, Gili kept shifting on the bench, constantly shooting nervous glances at the ghost, as if he was afraid that his obvious discomfort would offend him and inspire him to use that dagger of his. Then again, the loss of a Slytherin student would make it even harder to win points and the competition.  
  
Food appeared in big bowls on the tables once all the ghosts made their way to their respective table. To Merlin’s amusement, every table got the same amount of food, regardless of the amount of students, although each bowl contained something different, and he got up to check all of them, taking his plate with him. There were potatoes, lots and lots of potatoes, all made in various ways. There were sausages, hamburgers, steaks, chicken wings, fish, meat balls, and some sort of meat he didn’t recognise. He decided to go with pasta though, and a sauce that was so delicious that he kept moaning around his spoon, his toes curling in pleasure. He was just about to take a fourth serving when the food suddenly disappeared and his plate was clean again.  
  
“Oi!” he shouted in surprise and protest. He threw his shining plate a dirty look, and pouted when Owain mocked him.  
  
“Don’t worry, dessert will be here soon, and you really want to have room left to properly enjoy that!”  
  
True to his word, platters with more dessert than he’d ever seen filled the table. Again, Merlin got up to inspect everything, and he squealed in delight when he reached the end of the table. Heads turned at that, but he ignored them all in favour of picking up the platter and carrying it to the occupied part of the Slytherin table.  
  
“Guys, look at this! It’s sweet cheese tart!"  
  
Neither Forridel or Owain had ever tasted it, and Merlin scooped a large piece on their plates, urging them to try some. Gili became curious as well, but screwed his face in disgust at the first bite, and the others declined as well, leaving Merlin to an almost full platter and no impulse control whatsoever.  
  
By the time their plates were magically clean again, Merlin was leaning back and clutching his stomach. “I’ve never eaten this much in my entire life. I’m never doing it ever again. I feel regret. And pain.”  
  
Owain patted him on the back, though it felt rather unsympathetic to Merlin.  
  
“Wait till the next feast. Christmas food is even better.”  
  
Merlin moaned pathetically, and the others laughed.  
  
Albus got up and clapped his hands, and the tumult grew to a bearable level—the level of utter silence.  
  
“I welcome all of you to Hogwarts, and hope that everyone has a very rewarding year. In order to accomplish that, I advise you all not to enter the Forbidden Forest, nor the East wing of the dungeons. For none of us can choose our destiny, and none of us can escape it, and the destiny of trespassers shall be to die a slow and painful death.”  
  
A few people chuckled nervously, mainly first-years, but when the headmaster just stared blankly back, it became clear that he was all too serious.  
  
“On a happier note, Hogwarts is ready for another Quidditch season. Try-outs will be held in the second week of this term.  
  
“There’s even more good news, as we’ve found a replacement for Professor Rowlands, may his soul rest in peace, Professor Borden will be replacing him as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.  
  
“Time for bed now. First-years, please follow the prefects of your house. Chop chop!”  
  
The Slytherins stood up and formed a messy circle at the end of the table. Half of the students that had been sitting to Elyan’s right wore a shining silver-green badge with the word “Prefect” on it, Merlin noticed, but none of them stepped up as a leader of sorts. Instead, once the whole table—all 19 of them—had gathered in a small, messy circle at the head of the table, they all hurried together to the double doors that led back to the hallway, slipping in front of the masses.  
  
Merlin ended up walking beside a short girl that was red in the face and had cotton-candy-blue hair. She, too, was wearing a prefect’s badge.  
  
“Hi, I’m Pixie. I know that things are less formal for us because there’s so few of us, but if you need any help or guidance or you’ve got a question or stuff, my door’s always open! Well, not literally, because there’s this enchantment so that boys can’t enter the girls’ dormitories, but you know what I mean.”  
  
She was talking a mile a minute, and Merlin laughed. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I’m Merlin, and I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks.”  
  
“It’s so weird. I wonder what it’s like to be in one of the bigger houses. One thing’s for sure, I’d have a hell of a lot more responsibility. In fifth year, one girl and one boy of each house is appointed prefect, so there’s 6 prefects for the whole of Hufflepuff. Can you imagine? There’s hardly enough students in Slytherin to fill the prefects’ posts. You see that guy in front with his short cropped hair and the military-straight back? That’s Ewan. It’s just him and Montague—the one with the pretty curls—in sixth year, so there’s no girl prefect, only Ewan. And of course, in two years’ time it’ll be Elyan, and again no girl.  
  
“I’m just glad that I made it as a prefect and not Lamia. I hardly have to do anything, and it will still look good on my resume.”  
  
Merlin nodded. He certainly preferred being in such a small house. He had no idea how they would have the resources the hat had mentioned, but for one it’d sure be quieter and more peaceful when there were so few people.  
  
They descended a staircase, and to Merlin’s consternation they entered the dungeons. There were torches hanging from the damp walls, their flames flickering in the breeze that their robes did nothing to protect them from. There was an eerie sort of silence now that the chatter of hundreds of students had gone. Merlin vaguely wondered if their dorms were actually here in the dungeons as well, but then they turned left into a hallway that sloped down until it eventually turned into a small staircase. They were in the belly of the castle now, and Merlin’s hair raised on his arms. Several torches had gone out, and the shadows were deep and appeared impenetrable. They had to step over a couple of puddles, but their robes reached down to their ankles. Of course, Merlin stumbled at exactly the wrong moment, and his foot landed with a hard thump in the middle of one of the bigger puddles, leaving  the water to soak the bottom of his robe, making him shiver every time it brushed against his legs.  
  
They turned right, right, left, and right again, and what seemed like an eternity later they came to a stop in front of a wall that was bare of any torches and, thus, light. Merlin peered into the dark, wondering what they were supposed to be looking at.  
  
“This is the entrance to the Slytherin dormitory. I hope you paid attention to how to get here, but in case you didn’t, you can ask one of us to help you along. However, I don’t want _anyone_ to say the password out loud in an unsecure area, so make sure you remember it,” a girl with extraordinarily long brown hair said, and turned towards the wall. “Opera.”  
  
Merlin snorted, and the girl glared at him over her shoulder. At the same time, a door appeared in the stone wall, and Daegal, who was standing next to him, gasped audibly. “That is so cool.”  
  
They were ushered inside, and this time they _all_ gasped. Or at least Merlin, Morgana, Gili, and Daegal did. Even though the walk to their dorm had been terrible, the payoff to see the dormitory was worth it as it was absolutely incredible. And also very very green. There was a giant glass wall, and on the other side was the lake. They were _underwater_.  
  
There must have been a spell on the glass to clear the view, because the night had already fallen and yet they saw the fish as clear as day, merrily passing by. There were also all sorts of creatures in the water, like fish with three eyes, tiny blue seahorses, and fish with tentacles instead of fins. The green colour of the water illuminated the entire room, but next to the leather couches and on the mahogany desks were  some reading lights, and candles were floating through the room.  
  
Trying to ignore the potential fire hazard, Merlin took in the rest of his surroundings. There was a huge, imposing hearth driving away the draft that came through the open door before one of the older students closed it with a snap. There was a pool table to his right, and the left wall was covered with bookcases with mostly empty shelves. The floor was hidden by thick silver rugs, and the ceilings were low except for in the back corners where there was a spiralling staircase.  
  
  
Ewan gestured vaguely, making a motion with his arm that expanded the whole of the dorm. “Welcome to Slytherin. We’ve got an early start tomorrow, so better head off to bed now. Girls’ dormitories are on the left, boys’ are on the right. Breakfast is from 7.30 till 9AM, so don’t sleep in.”  
  
Neither Gili or Daegal was willing to take the lead, so Merlin was the first to climb the stairs—luckily their rooms were on the first level; there were enough stairs between their dorms and the rest of the castle as it was—and he pushed open the door with a big, fat, _green_ ‘1’ on it.  
  
There were three beds spread asymmetrically across the room, each with luggage at their feet. Merlin recognised his suitcase next to the bed in the middle. He charged over to it quickly and threw his suitcase on the bed to the left before dragging the other boy’s luggage to the middle one. When Daegal looked questioningly at him, he shrugged. “I like some privacy...and a great view.” He pointed over his shoulder to the window that, again, encompassed the whole wall. They were still under the water level—Merlin expected there were quite a few floors to go before they would reach the surface—and they had much of the same view as the one in the common room.  
  
Daegal didn’t object and unpacked his luggage. Merlin simply grabbed his pajamas from the stack of clothes that was lying on his bed--sweaters, pairs of trousers, even shoes, in neutral colours, and pajamas, ties, and undies in the Slytherin colours, how fashionable—before dropping the rest on the floor, and crawled under the soft covers. He felt like he was lying on a cloud, and his head sunk deep in his pillows.  
  
“Do you mind if I keep the window free, or do you want me to draw the curtains?”  
  
“S’okay,” Gili’s voice sounded from the other side of the room.  
  
“Yeah, we’ve got bed curtains, we can use those,” Daegal said.  
  
Merlin thanked them and snuggled the other pillow, and the last thing he saw before his eyes drifted close was a purple fish with one eye.


	4. Teach Us Something, Please

Elevators, Merlin decided, were a pretty nice invention and they would fit perfectly in a castle this size. It took them twenty minutes to walk from the Slytherin common room and leave the dungeons behind and get back into civilisation, and another five—which may not sound that long, but at that point every second was a second too many—to reach the Great Hall, where on the first morning, most other students were already digging into their breakfast. The older Slytherins were seated already, too, and Merlin tried not to glare at them. Some warning would’ve been nice.  
  
He was glad to have lived in the forests and be in a fairly good physical condition, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to walk so far on an empty stomach. As it was, Daegal looked pale and his body was trembling from the exertion when they got to their table.  
  
No sooner had they sat down when one of the professors left the Head Table and swept down on them. His nose was crooked and his eyes were unfriendly.  
  
“Here are your timetables. Your first class starts in 20 minutes, so you’d do well to get up earlier in the future.”  
  
He shoved a piece of parchment into Merlin’s hands. Some of the words were unfamiliar to Merlin—like Transfiguration and Charms—but most of the subjects on his list sounded interesting. For a second he wondered about the lack of more general courses, like maths or science, but he figured they might be part of the other courses.  
  
They shoveled their breakfasts in their mouth as quick as they could, but in the end they were still almost late to History of Magic. No one had time to run back to the dormitories to go and pick up their course books—which was when Merlin realised Gwen still had his—but the class ended up being so boring that they barely paid attention anyway. Professor Binns was a ghost and that said enough, really. Merlin realised that this was the worst possible subject for a Monday morning somewhere around his tenth suppressed yawn.  
  
An hour and a half later Merlin fled out of the classroom. He didn’t have anywhere to spend the small break he had, though, so he wandered at a leisurely pace towards their next class, while Morgana, Gili, and Daegal hurried towards the dungeons to gather the course books for their next classes. The Ravenclaws seemed to be glad to see them go, and when they arrived at the classroom for Charms, the Gryffindors—whom they had most of their classes with—scowled before turning back with adoring eyes to the boy in the middle of the group, Arthur.  
  
Merlin rolled his eyes. Morgana did the same and he winked conspiratorially at her.  
  
“Merlin!”  
  
Gwen walked towards him, biting her lip and pushing a lock of hair behind her ear.  
  
“Hi Gwen! How’s Gryffindor life treating you?”  
  
Gwen blushed and shot a look behind her. Merlin looked the same way, but he had no idea who the look was meant for, as everyone was still gathered around Arthur.  
  
“I haven’t talked to that many people yet. Although there’s this girl in my room, Elena, and she’s just the kindest soul. Not that you’re not kind,” she hastened to add.  
  
The door to the classroom opened and they entered, side by side. The room was divided into two, with two rows of benches on the left side of the room—where most of the Gryffindors took a seat—and two rows on the right side. To Merlin’s joy, Gwen ignored the Gryffindor-Slytherin animosity, and sat right between Merlin and Morgana.  
  
Professor Flitwick read their names from a scroll of parchment, and squealed when Arthur Pendragon confirmed his presence.  
  
Class started and Merlin really regretted not having his course books with him. What followed were two intense periods of Charms. Professor Flitwick only had time to introduce them to some much needed magical theory, explaining only the most basic concepts of spellwork and wand waving, and how a wand worked as a conduit between the magic they harboured within their bodies and the outside world. Everyone was scribbling notes in the margins of their course books, and it was hard for Merlin to understand everything that the professor was saying without the textbook, even though Gwen shoved hers to the left so he could read along.  
  
At the end of class, Professor Flitwick gave them homework, saying that they needed to prove that they understood the theory of Charms through and through before they would ever get started on using spells.  
  
After class, before Merlin could even bring up the topic himself, Gwen said, “I still have your books! I’m so sorry that I didn’t return them to your earlier. Have you got time now? We could go to my dorm, so I can give them back to you.”  
  
Merlin grinned. “No problem, it’s not as if it was your fault. I do have time now though.”  
  
To his surprise it took almost as long to get to the Gryffindor dormitory as it did to reach the Slytherin’s. He wondered if the teachers’ rooms were hard to reach too, or if they thought it was hilarious to put all of the common rooms in such secluded parts of the castle, and watch the students try to get on time in class. Maybe they had bets at the head table over how many students would arrive out of breath and covered in sweat because they had to make a run for it. Merlin wouldn’t be surprised.  
  
The Gryffindor dormitory was on the 7th floor—how many floors did this castle even have?—and was guarded by a lady in a painting who raised her brows at the sight of a Slytherin but didn’t comment. She merely pulled a handle when Gwen said, “Nostradamus,” and the painting swung to the side, revealing a wooden door.  
  
Gwen bit her lip as they entered. The room was cosy and, just like the Slytherin’s common room, had a hearth to keep it comfortably warm. However, that’s where the comparison stopped. There were neither shelves, nor bookcases or a pool table, and definitely not an entire wall of glass with a brilliant view of the lake. Instead, the room was rather small, with wooden floorboards and inviting-looking couches and a few tables spread all over.  
  
There were older students sprawled on the couches and sitting in chairs with their books spread over the tables, attempting to get their homework done. Only two looked up when Merlin and Gwen entered, but as soon as they saw Merlin, they jumped up, making sure _everyone_ knew there was a Slytherin in their midst. Their angry gazes turned on Gwen.  
  
“What is he doing here?” a thin girl with brown hair asked in an accusing tone, pointing her finger towards Merlin in case someone didn’t realise who she was talking about.  
  
Gwen pulled at the sleeve of her robes. “I have something of his. We’re just picking it up.”  
  
“He can wait outside.”  
  
“Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t know there were rules to—”  
  
“ _Everyone_ knows you don’t invite a Slytherin into your house! They’re not even supposed to know _where_ our dorms are. Emrys, did he hear our password?”  
  
Gwen nodded and opened her mouth, but she was cut short again. “Great, now we have to change it.” She turned towards Merlin, glaring at him. “What are you still doing here?” She spat the words, drenching them in venom.  
  
Merlin didn’t want to bring Gwen into any trouble with her own house and would’ve stayed outside if he had known that the Gryffindors would make a big deal out of it. But they could’ve said it politely—although how one could tell someone to fuck off because you’re seemingly full of prejudices and distrust them just because they’re wearing the wrong colours politely, was beyond him—instead of treating him like a mosquito that had given their offspring malaria.  
  
He opened his mouth to tell the girl exactly what he thought of their attitude and complete disrespect towards him, but this time Gwen cut him off.  
  
“How dare you? Merlin has done nothing wrong. Maybe he shouldn’t have heard the password, but he’s my friend and I trust him.” She pushed her sleeves up and gestured wildly with her hands. Her curls bounced around her ears, and her face reddened in anger. She looked majestic.  
  
“Just because he’s a Slytherin doesn’t mean that he’s going to become the next dark lord. Christ, get over yourselves. If you treat all Slytherins like that, it’s no wonder some get fed up and give up on trying to do good!”  
  
She threw her hands up in the air, groaning in frustration. For a second it looked like she had more to say, but then she shook her head and stormed towards one of the stairwells in the back. Everyone looked at her retreating back, and as she disappeared, either avoided Merlin’s eyes entirely or stared openly at him, with curiosity, thinly veiled hostility, or something else in between.  
  
Merlin shuffled uncomfortably, but refused to back down and lower his gaze. If Gwen hadn’t beaten him to it, Merlin would have been the one to lose his cool. He stared coolly back. By the time Gwen returned, most had given up. He was still locked in a staring contest with the girl who’d gone straight for the attack, but when Gwen entered the room again, Merlin decided that she wasn’t worth wasting more time on.  
  
He opened the door, nodding towards it, silently questioning if she was ready to go.  
  
Gwen smiled slightly and walked out. Merlin followed, quietly closing the door behind them.  
  
“Thanks for that. I hope you don’t get in trouble with your roommates now.” He took the books out of her hands and struggled to balance the stack for a couple of seconds.  
  
“No problem, and don’t worry about it. If they’re into treating people like dirt because of their house, I don’t think they’re people I could be friends with anyway. And Mithian has already told me she thinks it’s ridiculous as well, so that’s at least one roommate who won’t mind.”  
  
She patted his arm but didn’t remove her hand, instead using it to guide him down the stairs, nevermind that he could see perfectly well. The stack wasn’t _that_ high.  
  
By the time they reached the ground level, half an hour had past already in all the commotion that Merlin urged Gwen to go to the Great Hall. She shouldn’t have to miss lunch. Once she reluctantly agreed, Merlin hurried towards his dorm to grab what he needed and practically ran back to the Great Hall, suddenly starving. He made it just in time to grab an apple before all the food magically disappeared.  
  
His roommates raised their eyebrows at him, but Merlin was too preoccupied with devouring his apple to explain his tardiness. Together they headed to their next class, which unfortunately included Arthur, whose classmates apparently still hadn’t gotten over the fact that they were able to bask in his presence.  
  
Fortunately, Professor McGonagall was not so impressed with the celebrity in their midst, even though she was head of Gryffindor. It was as if she didn’t realize that Arthur was supposed to be famous, and all she cared about was their ability to turn a match into a needle. Although, she did admit that the chances were slim that anyone would actually succeed, right before giving them a stern glare and warning that they would need to practise a lot in their free time.  
  
Gwen was sitting next to Merlin, again ignoring the invisible barrier in the middle of the classroom, as Morgana sat in front of them on her own, while Gili and Daegal were behind them.  
  
It was the first time they were asked (read: given permission) to use their wands, and everyone muttered in excitement. There was a nervous fluttering in Merlin’s belly as he cleared his throat.  
  
He said the spell and moved his wand just as they had been instructed, but nothing happened. He pouted at the match, and then at his wand, and did it again. And again and again. All around him students were saying or shouting the spell with varying amounts of desperation. Gwen chose to say it in an authoritative voice and looked at the match as if reprimanding it.  
  
It was a relief to note that those who grew up in this world had trouble, too, and even the great Arthur Pendragon had been waving his wand without result.  
  
“As you can see, Transfiguration is one of the more difficult courses, more complicated than Charms and Herbology. I’ll show you the spell one more time.”  
  
This was getting him nowhere, Merlin thought, and decided to change tactics. _Change into a needle, change into a pointy needle_ , he chanted in his head, glaring at the match.  
  
_Onga!_  
  
The wand wiggled in his hand and felt slightly warmer to the touch. A tingling feeling spread through his fingers.  
  
“You did it!” Gwen put her wand down and picked up his match—no, his _needle_ _—_ to examine it. Her exclaim had gotten them the attention of the rest of the class, and everyone turned around to watch them when Professor McGonagall rushed to their table.  
  
Gwen gave her the needle, proud as a peacock.  
  
“Extraordinary.” Professor McGonagall raised her voice to address the other students. “Mister Ambrosius has just performed a successful transfiguration.” She started passing around the needle, encouraging them to keep its form in mind during the incantation.  
  
The Gryffindors threw him dirty looks, and it was almost a relief when class was over. And thanks to whoever was watching over him that Merlin didn’t do any more ‘extraordinary’ feats in the other classes. Already a couple of people had tried tripping him up in the hallway—and what a surprise it was that they’d all been wearing red-gold ties.  
  
Finally Friday came around with few more incidents, and although Merlin still didn’t understand why the Slytherin common rooms were in such a remote part of the castle—unless the headmaster had thought they needed to be kept as far away from the Gryffindor rooms on the seventh floor for safety reasons—he thought it was worth it to come home to their view on the lake. No one else knew about it, and it was worth the occasional taunt about being stowed away into the dungeons. No matter how much secrecy surrounded the exact locations of the common rooms, it wasn’t hard to guess that the Hufflepuffs were somewhere near the kitchens, and it was kind of hard to miss the Ravenclaws that emerged from the West side of the castle every morning.  
  
The previous night, Gili and Daegal had not been able to shut up about their first flying class in the morning. In the end, Merlin had had to cast a silencing spell on his bed curtains, lest they kept him awake all night. He’d rather not fall off his broom in front of the Gryffindors, thank you very much.  
  
They walked to the training grounds where Madame Hooch, their teacher according to the information on their timetables, was already waiting. There were two rows of brooms lying on the ground, and Merlin found himself between Daegal and a Gryffindor.  
  
Madame Hooch clapped her hands loudly, quickly making everyone stop talking and look at her. “Once you’re all standing next to your broom, I want you to hold your wand hand above your broom and say ‘up.’ ”  
  
A chorus of “up”s erupted, and the brooms flew up, straight into their hand. Merlin’s broom however, shivered slightly, but remained on the ground.  
  
“Up!” he said  a few more times, his voice raising as he did so, before the broom finally complied, albeit reluctantly.  
  
Madame Hooch raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Now mount your brooms. On the count of three, push off the ground—be sure to put some force behind it—hover a few seconds in the air, get a feel of balancing on a broom, and then come back down by leaning forward. One, two, three!”  
  
Merlin jumped, and landed hard back on his feet. He stumbled, and his broom rolled away from him, creaking pitifully.  
  
All the others were hovering a few feet above the ground; he’d been the only one to fail. The Gryffindor next to him sniggered, and Merlin grabbed the broom again, ignoring its protests, and mounted it. He cursed it silently. He was not going to allow a stupid broom to give them any reason to mock him. Stupid house rivalry. The broom was going to comply, or else.  
  
Under Madame Hooch’s watchful eye, he pushed off the ground, and the broom shot up like a bullet, taking him high into the air.  
  
“Mister Ambrosius, come back down this instance!”  
  
As soon as he got off the ground, however, he lost all control of the broom. He leant forward, but the broom shook forcefully, swinging left and right. Merlin clung on for dear life. Madame Hooch mounted her own broom and made to approached him, but the broom just climbed higher.  
  
“Stop flying!” Merlin shouted desperately, and to his horror, this time it complied. The broom stopped flying altogether. It dropped like a brick into freefall and Merlin screamed. A thud. A crack. Blackness.  
  
*-*-*  
  
The very last period of the week _had_ to be Potions, hadn’t it? Arthur had heard about Snape’s grudge against Gryffindor, and he was not surprised in the least. After all, he was head of Slytherin, and well, that said it all really.  
  
Although maybe Arthur had gone a bit too far this morning when he’d made a joke after Madame Hooch had carried that Slytherin, Merlin, to the hospital wing, unconscious and probably with a broken bone or two. That fall had been from really high up in the air, and if word ever reached _any_ professor that Arthur had mocked the boy’s clumsiness… And perhaps it hadn’t even been Merlin’s fault. When Madame Hooch returned, with no Merlin in sight, she’d studied the broom and said it was dead for all intents and purposes, right before dragging Arthur off the field because she’d caught him flying unsupervised (“or did you think I am blind?”).  
  
Arthur supposed he had to thank Morgana for taunting him, daring him to show off his much-bragged-about skills. Professor McGonagall had seen Arthur blatantly breaking the rules as well, and had rescued Arthur from detention, promptly promoting him to Seeker on the Gryffindor quidditch team. When Morgana would hear that, she’d be livid. Too bad he had to keep it secret for now.  
  
They reached the dungeons and Arthur scrunched up his nose. He couldn’t imagine having his dorms be in the _dungeons_. His father would throw a fit until they got a better place. The Slytherins were already there, but he’d rather be late to class than be on time because his dorms were _here_.  
  
That Merlin guy was here too. His wrist seemed to have healed nicely, although he rubbed it unconsciously. He glared at Arthur, and Arthur had no doubt that Morgana, who was whispering in Merlin’s ear, had already told him what had happened after his...unfortunate accident.  
  
When the door opened, Arthur automatically walked to the left side of the room. They had almost all of their classes with the Slytherins, and after barely a week they had already settled into a routine. Most Gryffindors would sit on the left side of the room, and the Slytherins on the right side. Unfortunately, he’d been lost in his thoughts for a little too long, and all the seats were already taken. The classroom was small, and there was just enough benches for everyone. He wondered how the Ravenclaws or the Hufflepuffs fit in.  
  
Reluctantly, he took a seat in the back on the right side, behind Merlin and some other Slytherin. To his surprise Gwen took the seat next to him. It was a bold move for someone he’d thought to be quite shy. But then again, she was nice to everyone; Arthur supposed she was also too nice to see the Slytherins for what they really were: future dark wizards. Perhaps it was her upbringing by a Muggle father. Nobody had been there to teach her about the hidden faces of Slytherins that had been exposed time after time throughout history. Maybe he should enlighten her…  
  
Snape started calling their names. At Arthur’s name he paused, looking up with an unreadable expression on his face. “Arthur Pendragon… We have a celebrity in our midst.”  
  
Arthur refrained from rolling his eyes. While he’d grown up with fame, it didn’t make it any less annoying that everyone felt the need to treat him special, whether it be good or bad.  
  
Snape moved on and rolled up the scroll again. He managed to make it look like he was sharpening a sword or polishing his wand before a duel. Silence descended automatically over the room, there was no prompt needed.  
  
“I will teach you about the subtle science and exact art of potion making.” He enunciated every word carefully, and Arthur found himself leaning forward as if in a spell. “Few of you will treat this like real magic. It’s a gift to be able to appreciate the wonders of making potions, a gift that few possess. Most will merely try to get a pass on their exam, but if there are any of you that can understand the true magic that goes hidden in a cauldron with the right ingredients, I can teach you true glory.”  
  
He looked around the room, meeting every student’s eyes until they had to give in and look away. After the last students broke eye contact, he let the silence stretch into something awkward that left everyone shifting in their seats. Gwen fingered her curls in a nervous habit, and Arthur wiped his hands on his trousers.  
  
Suddenly Snape turned towards the blackboard and wrote down the name of a potion.  
  
“This potion is one of the easiest potions known to wizards. Turn to page 7 in your books, follow the instructions, and prepare it by the end of class. If done well, you will have made a cure for boils.”  
  
Arthur took out his cauldron. Gwen, who had already opened her book to the right page, offered to walk to the shelves and grab enough herbs for the both of them. Arthur accepted the offer, and finished setting up for the both of them.  
  
Snape walked around the class, starting at the Gryffindors’ side of the room, finding fault with the way they dried their nettles, criticizing how they crushed the snake fangs, and even pointing out to Pellinor that he had managed to stir with the wrong technique.  
  
In fact, he was in the middle of a rant about weighing techniques when Merlin shouted, “Gili, don’t!” He jumped off the bench and pushed Gili away from his cauldron. Gili, surprised by the physical assault, flew back and stumbled into Arthur and Gwen’s table.  
  
Arthur yelled, “Watch it!” but the force of the impact overturned their table, and the cauldrons capsized. The liquid missed his and Gwen’s robes by a centimetre, and Arthur thanked his lucky stars that they hadn’t been drenched in the scaldingly hot liquid.  
  
Once he’d gathered his thoughts he looked up at Merlin. “What the hell were you doing?”  
  
Merlin muttered, “Sorry, I suppose _you_ wanted to stop Gili from adding porcupine quills before taking his cauldron off the fire? After all, you’re the one born to be a hero.”  
  
Snape stalked towards them, face predicting hellfire. “Is it true what Ambrosius says, about adding the quills?"  
  
Gili back away a little and lifted his arms. “I am—I did—Y-yes, Merlin’s right.”  
  
“Do you realise what would have happened if he hadn’t stopped you?”  
  
Gili shook his head wordlessly, and Snape looked at Merlin. “He’d have created an acid that burns anything that comes in touch with it. Gili would’ve been burned badly at the very least.”  
  
People gasped, and Gili’s shoulders slumped now that he realised the fate he’d escaped.  
  
“Ten points to Slytherin for knowing that. And another ten points for your quick reaction.”  
  
Then, Snape noticed Merlin’s potion. He peered into his cauldron curiously, and Arthur held his breath in anticipation, wondering if this clumsy boy would’ve made a grave error to ruin Snape’s good opinion of him.  
  
Snape took a vial from somewhere in his robes and took a sample of the potion, holding it up and studying it closely. Then, he brought it to his hooked nose and sniffed once, closing his eyes.  
  
“This is perfect,” he said eventually in wonder. “That is another ten points to Slytherin, for getting a potion right on the first try.”  
  
Merlin’s ears turned red, and Arthur snorted. If that wasn’t some unashamed house favouritism, he was not the Bringer of Balance. Not that Gryffindor was threatened...or a real threat to Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw too, for that matter. But it was the principle.  
  
However, having been given an excuse to gift his own house some points—or maybe he really was happy to have found a possible prodigy—Snape was in a good mood, because with the flick of his wand he cleaned up the mess that used to be Gwen’s and Arthur’s potions instead of leaving them to their own devices.  
  
For the remainder of the period, Snape was remarkably silent, and he supervised the class with a smug smirk.


	5. Join the Club

The first thing Merlin did on Monday morning was go downstairs and make a beeline for the head table. As luck would have it, all of the teachers were already there, sipping tea and buttering toast.  
  
Slightly out of breath from the walk that he’d done in about half of the time that it normally took him, he walked up to Professor Snape. The teachers and headmaster had all noticed him by now and he felt their eyes on him, curious.   
  
“Excuse me, Professor Snape?”   
  
“Mr. Ambrosius,” he said, not entirely unfriendly. If Merlin’s anonymous sources (Forridel and Owain) were right, they’d never seen him so elated. He was over the moon that a student—and not just any student, but a Slytherin—showed some real proficiency for Potions. Merlin thought he looked rather constipated.   
  
“I was wondering if our timetables were complete.”   
  
A bemused smile crossed Professor McGonagall’s face. She was sitting right next to Professor Snape and was not bothering to pretend she wasn’t eavesdropping.   
  
“...yes, they are. Why do you ask?”   
  
“I couldn’t help but notice that there are no, how shall I put it, non-magical courses.”   
  
Professor Snape reeled back, for the first time showing real emotion. “Why would we teach you _Muggle_ courses?”   
  
He spat the word, disdain in every letter, and it earned them the undivided attention of the whole table. Even the headmaster interrupted his loud slurping to look at them.   
  
Merlin felt the affront he’d been trying to suppress the whole weekend rise. He had hoped that maybe there had been a simple mistake or miscommunication.   
  
“Let me think, why would I want to be taught English or maths or science or history or economics?” His voice rose, no matter how much he tried to keep himself in check. The mocking, the inter-house bullying, the falling off his broom… Everything came back to him, and he’d _had_ it. “How the hell do you expect your students to know how to spell, or how to calculate the amount of ingredients they need to make a potion, or how much money is worth? How will they learn about all things non-magical? How the world was created, or how not to get pregnant?”   
  
“Magic—”   
  
“I’m not talking about magic! There is more to this world than magic alone. Emrys, even the druids weren’t this ignorant. How are we expected to adapt to the muggle world? What if after graduation someone decides that having magic is nice, but they’d rather become a scientist or an English teacher?”   
  
“Nobody is forced to attend Hogwarts; we simply invite them. If someone would rather go to a Muggle high school—”   
  
“So it’s a choice then, between learning about magic or living in the muggle world? Just like we’re being forced to compete against each other?”   
  
Professor Snape opened his mouth but no sound came out. Merlin looked expectantly at the other professors, but they, too, either remained quiet, were stunned into silence or, in the headmaster’s case, too busy sporting an enigmatic grin to answer. In the end, it was Professor Binns who spoke up.   
  
“Excuse me, but did you say you know the _druids_ ?”   
  
Merlin gaped at him. “ _That'_ s what you got from this?” He turned on his heels and stormed out, ignoring the hundreds of eyes following him.   
  
Right after, he regretted snapping at his teachers. Pixie, who’d seen if not heard his conversation, followed him out and cornered him in the hallway.   
  
“What happened?” she asked, concern clear on her face.   
  
“I think,” Merlin said, dragging a hand through his hair. “Emrys, I think I just called the teachers a bunch of hypocrites.”   
  
She grimaced, and her hair drooped a bit.   
  
“Yeah, maybe not in that many words, but I definitely called them hypocrites. And I might have yelled a bit?”   
  
Her hair paled a bit at that, and Merlin was sure he didn’t imagine it losing its shine. Pixie looked him straight in the eyes. “Why?”   
  
Merlin rubbed the back of his neck before raising his hands in exasperation. “Because they _are_ hypocrites. Anything that is not magical gets completely discarded and erased from our minds! They don’t get to do that! They have no right!”   
  
He quickly explained the importance of having general courses to her, and she nodded thoughtfully.   
  
“You have History of Magic now, right?” she asked to his surprise.   
  
Merlin nodded hesitatingly, not sure what that had to do with anything.   
  
“You’re going to be late,” she said, and dragged him towards his classroom. “Okay, here’s what I think. Why don’t you take a look in the library, see if there’s any course books on maths and whatnot. If you can’t find any, you should ask Snape if the school can buy some. After all, you have a right to knowledge, and as long as it contributes to your education, I don’t see how he could protest.”   
  
They arrived on the first floor, but Pixie didn’t approach the students that were already there. Merlin saw Daegal throw the pair of them questioning looks, and he shook his head. Daegal shrugged and returned to his conversation with Gili and Morgana.   
  
“What about the others? Don’t they have a right to basic knowledge?”   
  
Pixie didn’t answer immediately, considering their options. “The way I see it, if you’re so concerned about them, why not teach them yourselves?” she said eventually, half-jokingly. Pixie thumped his shoulder. “Alright, time for class. Let me know what Snape said, ‘kay?”   
  
Merlin waved at her, and when he turned back, he saw that the other students were already entering the classroom. Gili, Daegal, and Morgana had already disappeared inside, and when Merlin got to their usual bench—or how usual a bench could be when it was only their second ever History of Magic lesson—it was to find a tall Ravenclaw sitting next to them. Merlin took the seat next to him and smiled. Anyone who didn’t care about the house rivalry was his friend as far as he was concerned.   
  
“Hiya, I’m Merlin.” He held out his hand, and the Ravenclaw shook it.   
  
“Percival, but please call me Percy.”   
  
Professor Binns started the class then. Although they couldn’t talk during class, Merlin felt that they had become friends over the course of the two periods. He, for one, took an immediate liking to Percival. Percival nudged him awake every time Merlin nodded off, bored out of his mind, and wrote notes in his neat handwriting that he offered to let Merlin copy when he saw that all Merlin had managed were a couple of ink smudges and doodles.   
  
It was in high spirits that Merlin walked to Charms. Not even Arthur would be able to ruin his good mood.   
  
It was too bad that Professor Flitwick was capable of doing exactly that on his own though. He’d finally gotten over the fact that Arthur Pendragon was one of his pupils, but now he seemed to focus entirely too much on Merlin.   
  
He kept interrupting his explanation about the right way to wave a wand and the importance of correct pronunciation to compare it to the druids’ instinctual skills, all the while looking Merlin’s way. Merlin kept his face carefully blank, never indicating any emotion or reaction to what the professor was saying, and in the end Professor Flitwick gave up and asked outright,   
  
“Merlin, perhaps you could tell us a bit more about the druids? There’s very little known about them, and this is a great opportunity for everyone to learn a bit more about them. Do you know at what age they can first do magic, for example? Or a-are you a druid yourself?”   
  
He looked ready to faint at the thought of that, and Merlin tried not to scowl. Everyone knew that the druids wanted nothing to do with modern wizards and did everything in their power to keep their ways sacred— _secret_ . Did Professor Flitwick really think he would betray them like that? Or that, even if he was a druid, he would just declare himself to be one, just like that? It had been a mistake to mention them in the first place, a slip of the tongue.   
  
“I’m not a druid, no, but I understand their ways and respect them. They taught me many things, not only about their religion, but about a range of subjects, not the least of which were so-called muggle courses,” he couldn’t resist saying. “I owe them greatly, so I’m sure you’ll understand when I tell you that I vowed them my silence about their ways. It was the least I could do.”   
  
Merlin inclined his head, partly to hide the smirk that was fighting its way onto his face.   
  
Professor Flitwick blushed and stammered his understandance. The rest of the period he didn’t dare look at Merlin again.   
  
To Merlin’s regret Professor Flitwick hadn’t informed the other teachers about Merlin’s vowed silence, and he had to repeat his little speech every day, though he was careful to formulate it more diplomatically when saying it to Professor McGonagall. He respected her, and somehow didn’t think that she’d let him get away with being cheeky. By the time Friday came around everyone—the Gryffindors, Slytherins, _and_ Merlin—were tired of the teachers’ unsubtle prying and Merlin’s increasingly rude answers. They all sighed in relief when Snape didn’t ask Merlin about it.   
  
In fact, Snape didn’t ask Merlin anything, or even so much as acknowledge him. He was, however, particularly harsh to the Gryffindors and made a girl cry because she spilled some of her potion on the table even though it was completely harmless. “Are you so confident in your own abilities? A wrongly prepared potion can be extremely dangerous as Gili almost demonstrated last week! I expect a 6 inch essay on all the ways this potion could’ve gone wrong.”   
  
Arthur started to defend her, protesting that Snape shouldn’t take his frustrations out on them. Snape’s only reaction was to have everyone write the essay and take five points from Gryffindor.   
  
The Gryffindors threw Merlin venomous looks. Most of them had witnessed his mini-tantrum at the head table, and obviously whatever he’d said had pissed Snape off, thus making it his fault. At Gwen’s plea that he do something, because he was the only one Snape might listen to, Merlin pinched his nose. He’d just fallen off his broom, _again_ , in flying class. His arm had healed in minutes, but he still felt a bit shaken, and he was not in the mood for a confrontation of any sorts. But if he wanted to get any rest, he knew he had to get everyone off his back. And if that meant speaking to Snape…   
  
“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth, and Gwen smiled in return, saying he was the best.   
  
The classroom cleared and Merlin fiddled with his cauldron, trying to look as innocent as possible and not as if he was purposely staying behind. When the last student walked through the door, Merlin skidded towards it, closed it, and turned with a glint in his eyes toward Snape, who was cleaning the board by hand rather than with a spell.   
  
“Are you still upset about what I said about muggle courses?” Merlin stalked towards the front of the room, crossing his arms.   
  
Surprised, Snape swivelled around. “What are you still doing here?”   
  
“Because if you are,” Merlin continued, “I’m not going to apologise for that. However, it was wrong of me to be so rude.”   
  
Snape inclined his head.   
  
“But actually, I wanted to ask you something.” Merlin dropped his arms, letting them swing at his sides. “I went to the library, and there’s not a lot of books on...muggle courses. While I can understand that they won’t be taught...” Actually, he didn’t understand, but he had to pick his battles, and this was one he wouldn’t win, not today. ”I would still like to study them in my free time. If I had any money, I’d buy them myself.” He wouldn’t. It was the school’s responsibility to educate them properly. But again, battles, had to be picked. ”But sadly I don’t. Have any money, that is...” He trailed off, sure that Snape got the hint without him asking it outright.   
  
Snape appraised him then, pondering for a minute. Eventually, he nodded once. “I’ll see what I can do.”   
  
Merlin grinned and skipped away.   
  
“Oh, and Merlin?”   
  
Merlin turned around, hand on the door handle. Snape looked back at him with a smirk. “It was indeed wrong of you to be so rude to a teacher. You have detention on Monday after classes, with me.”   
  
\--   
  
“Mischief managed,” Fred muttered and pocketed the map. “He should be out on the quidditch practise field.”   
  
George nodded and headed down the corridor. “Do you think he’ll do it?”   
  
Fred snorted. “He’s insulted Arthur Pendragon _and_ the entirety of the school staff. I don’t think he cares much about hierarchy.”   
  
“He _has_ made himself quite popular, hasn’t he?” George mumbled sarcastically.   
  
“Yeah, if he’s in, we’ll have to teach him a little something about tact.”   
  
They left the castle through the North entrance, the one closest to the practice fields, and made their way down the hill.   
  
“There he is,” Fred said.   
  
Merlin was walking straight towards them, head down as he dragged a broomstick behind him.   
  
“Flying without permission?” George said once Merlin was in earshot.   
  
Merlin looked up in surprise and blinked at them.   
  
“With a broom first-years aren’t supposed to own?” Fred remarked.   
  
They closed the last of the distance between themselves and Merlin, leaning just inside his personal space.   
  
“It’s not mine,” Merlin said with a raised brow. “I borrowed it.”   
  
“Borrowed?” Fred asked. “Does the owner know it’s…”   
  
“... _borrowed_ ?” George finished.   
  
“No,” Merlin deadpanned.   
  
They both started laughing. “You must be Merlin.”   
  
“We were looking for you.”   
  
“Looking for me? Let me guess, you heard my desperate plea for help.”   
  
Fred exchanged a look with his brother before appraising him. Merlin drew his shoulders back a bit, but opened his stance.   
  
He didn’t look unfriendly, and Fred was curious as to what Merlin was getting at. He nodded slightly at George.   
  
“What do you need help with?” George asked.   
  
“I need to get this broom into Madam Hooch’s broom chest.”   
  
They grinned, already knowing he’d be a perfect addition to their team if the first thing he asked them was to break a rule or two. “Consider it done.”   
  
Merlin gestured for them to lead the way, but instead George held out his hand. “We’ll do it.”   
  
“Don’t want to give away our secrets, do we?” Fred said, grinning at George.   
  
Merlin tilted his head before shrugging. “Okay. When it’s done you know where to find me.”   
  
“We do,” Fred said, and winked at Merlin. He turned on his heels and George fell in step with him, leaving Merlin to regard them in confusion.   
  
\--   
  
_However, traces of its magical past can still be found in the lizard’s anatomy._ Elyan pondered for a second before dipping his quill back into the ink.   
  
The door to his room burst open and he only just managed to not spill ink all over the parchment.   
  
“Elyan!” Fred grinned.   
  
“Just the man we were looking for,” George said.   
  
Elyan dryly looked around the chambers that were solely his.   
  
“My, how surprising.”   
  
George rolled his eyes. “Anyway, we don’t have a lot of time. We’re going on a trip and want to be back in time for dinner. You in?”   
  
“What sort of trip?” Elyan knew better than to agree before questioning. He had made that mistake once, and it had led to being chased by angry centaurs. Naked. Never again.   
  
“Oh, you know, just taking Merlin to the East wing of the dungeons.” Fred grinned innocently.   
  
“Do I even want to know why?”   
  
“We want to see if he’s cut out for our mischievous ways.”   
  
“Stop waggling your eyebrows like that, Fred,” Elyan sighed. “It makes you look like a creep.” Still, he put down his quill and grabbed his cloak. “Well, I guess someone has to make sure you don’t get that boy in too much trouble.”   
  
“So altruistic,” George said, clutching his chest and pretending to swoon.   
  
Elyan swatted at him and pushed past both of them towards the common room.   
  
“And it’s not as if Merlin is so innocent himself,” Fred said. “He just asked us to put this regular broom in the chest with the school’s training brooms.”   
  
“Probably wants to prank the Pendragon heir.”   
  
Elyan nodded. “Gwen told me that he was a douche about Merlin breaking his arm during flying practise. Seems plausible.” Then he clapped their shoulders. “Where do we find him?”   
  
According to the map, still outside. They found him lingering at the lake’s edge.   
  
Their loud arrival disturbed the scene’s quiet, and Merlin turned around, looking a little surprised. “Back so soon?”   
  
“What can we say, we’re true professionals,” Fred said.   
  
Merlin shrugged and waved at Elyan.   
  
George extended an arm towards Elyan and Fred and said, “Meet the Pranksters.”   
  
Elyan grimaced. “Yeah, we’re still working on finding a name.”   
  
“The point is,” George said, ignoring Elyan, “that we are inviting you to join us.”   
  
Merlin’s face remained impassive, but Elyan could see a smile tugging at his lips. He kept quiet, and Fred continued, “If you pass one tiny test, true glory could be yours.”   
  
Elyan coughed in his hand. “What are you calling true glory…” he muttered, and George put a hand on his mouth with a smile.   
  
“One tiny test?” Merlin asked, wisely sounding sceptical.   
  
Elyan pulled his head away from George’s hand and looked around, but no one was in the vicinity to overhear. “We’re going to the East part of the dungeons.”   
  
“...didn’t Kilgharrah explicitly forbid that?”   
  
“Exactly! We want to know why.”   
  
“Believe us,” Fred said. “It won’t be dangerous. We’ve been to the Forbidden Forest before and we came out unharmed.”   
  
Elyan snorted when he didn’t mention the loss of clothes or the being chased part.   
  
“The curiosity is killing us, so we’ll be going either way. You in or not?”   
  
Merlin cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. Then he shrugged again and said, “Why not?”   
  
Elyan grinned and pulled Merlin towards the closest entrance into the castle, giving George a moment to open the map. Merlin threw him a curious look and Elyan simply said, “Later.”   
  
Merlin nodded, apparently satisfied with that answer, and stuffed his hands into his pockets.   
  
Fred and George caught up to them and together they made their way into the castle. Elyan shivered when the slivers of sunshine on his back were replaced by the coolness of the stone walls of the castle. It might not have been warm outside, but at least there were fewer icy shadows waiting for hapless passersby to walk into them and get covered in goosebumps. The school robes couldn’t even keep a mammoth warm.   
  
They descended the first staircase they came across. George helped himself to one of the torches that were hung on the wall. Fred held the map in the circle of light, because down there everything looked the same and one wrong turn could lead them astray for hours.   
  
“Is that a map?” Merlin exclaimed. “I need to get my hands on one of those. This castle’s a bloody maze!”   
  
“Afraid it’s the only one, as far as I’m aware.” Elyan patted his back consolingly.   
  
Merlin pursed his lips in thought. Elyan wondered what he was thinking.   
  
The corridors they travelled became narrower, damper, and darker, and they formed a line, not really able to walk next to each other anymore. The path had been sloping down for a while, and Elyan thought that they might be beneath the lake. At one point water was seeping down the walls and turning the floor of an entire corridor into a small, local pond.   
  
The sound of their footsteps bounced off the walls. George’s torch provided the only light, but it also cast gloomy shadows all around them, and if Elyan didn’t trust his friends so much he would be wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into. This was nothing like the Forbidden Forest.   
  
Then, they turned a corridor and entered a broad hallway.   
  
“East wing,” Fred announced.   
  
Every five feet or so, there was a torch lighting up the stone walls. It looked a lot like the corridors on the other levels, the only difference being that there were no paintings. The doors looked like they could burst open at any second to let a stream of students in or out as they  shuffled towards their next class.   
  
“Well, call me underwhelmed,” George said.   
  
He walked through the hallway, opening a couple of doors. Some rooms were empty, other were abandoned classrooms, a few were stuffed to the brim with mess, and one turned out to be a bathroom.   
  
“I can’t believe we walked for half an hour through puddles and narrow passageways for _this_ ,” Merlin said. “At least tell me there’s another way back? I think my toes will rot if we have to wade through that lagoon again.”   
  
Fred checked the map. “If we go right at the end of this hallway, there’s another route to get upstairs. Can’t promise it’ll be as scenic though.” He grinned.   
  
George nodded. “Lead the way.”   
  
They followed Fred around the corner when Elyan heard a noise. “Did you hear that?”   
  
There was thumping and a clinking noise, but Elyan couldn’t hear it well enough to be able to say what it was.   
  
“I think it’s coming from behind that door,” Merlin said. He went to the door and laid his hand on the handle. Then he looked back. “Should I?”   
  
“Yes!” Fred said, making it sound like ‘Duh!’   
  
They joined him at the door, staying behind him.   
  
“Here goes nothing,” Merlin muttered, and opened the door.   
  
At first Elyan couldn’t see what was going on. Merlin moved in, followed by George, who was taller than Elyan and so his head obscured everything from sight. Then they both jumped back, and right before they slammed the door shut, Elyan caught a glimpse.   
  
“Did you see that?” Merlin asked with wide eyes.   
  
Fred nodded vigorously. “No wonder Kilgharrah wants to keep that secret!” He seemed more excited than scared.   
  
“Where did he even find that?”   
  
“How many heads did you count? Three?”   
  
Elyan had only seen two heads, and those had been more than enough. They’d both had black, menacing eyes and huge teeth that were bared at them.   
  
“The better question is, why is he keeping it?” Elyan muttered.   
  
After that, they hurried back the way they’d come.   
  
“Rotten toes or not,” Merlin said, “at least we know there won’t be any three-headed dogs waiting to maul us to death.” 


	6. Mind Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: AO3 keeps adding spaces before and after italics and em-dashes. ;-)

Someone was out on the Quidditch practice field unauthorised. Arthur would bet it was a Slytherin. What a shame it was, because he was good, zooming around the field without hesitation. He would've whistled, but Oliver Wood was angrily stomping towards the field. Still, they were too late to catch the culprit, and by the time they got there, he had disappeared.

Then, Oliver turned on him, and all thoughts of stray flyers left Arthur's mind. Today was his first practise with the team captain. Professor McGonagall had praised him, gushing about how he was the seeker they had been looking for, before composing herself and giving him a warning that the next time he broke the rules, he'd regret it dearly.

But Oliver hadn't actually seen him fly yet, and part of Arthur was afraid of disappointing him, or making a complete idiot of himself. He could fly, and well at that, as his father had made sure that he was good at everything, presenting him to tutor after tutor, because after all, he was the balance bringer. Imagine how disappointed the wizarding world would be if he didn't excel at all things magic. The shame he'd bring on his family. People had expectations, and Uther would make sure that Arthur met them. 

If he knew that Arthur had made the Quidditch team, despite being a first-year, it would make him happy. However, Arthur had yet to get a congratulatory letter, and he couldn't imagine that one of Uther's anonymous sources hadn't told him yet about this—even though it was a secret, but Uther had sources everywhere; secrets didn't exist for him. The last letter had made no mention of Quidditch at all, only enquiring after how well he was doing in his classes, and how was Arthur supposed to reply to that when they hadn't even had a test yet? 

“Alright, Arthur. You know the rules of the game?” Oliver asked.  
  
Arthur nodded. He gripped his broom—borrowed from Madame Hooch—and mounted it. Oliver unlocked the wooden box he’d brought along, prying the snitch out of its place. Arthur had never practised for a certain position in the team, only ever focusing on the flying itself, and his heart skipped a beat at the sight of the small, golden ball with wings that fluttered so fast that they became indistinguishable.   
  
“Alright, then. Show me what you’ve got.”   
  
Arthur pushed off the ground and looked around, squinting his eyes slightly. The snitch had already disappeared, and Arthur flew a couple of rounds around the field, taking in his surroundings. He rose higher and higher, above the tallest tree, until Oliver was a mere speck in the background. Then he pushed the broom’s nose straight downward and dove into a freefall. Only when he reached the treetops again did he pull the broom to a stop.   
  
Arthur made another circle around the field. Just when he got to the east end of the pitch, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. He made a sharp U-turn and gained speed, his body bent down low. His eyes zeroed in on the snitch and began watering from the dry air. Arthur flew forward.   
  
The snitch slalomed, trying to shake Arthur off by making sharp and unpredictable movements, but Arthur refused to let it disappear out of sight. He quickly closed the distance, and his right hand shot out, enclosing the surprising warmth of the snitch.   
  
Steering the broom with his left hand, Arthur flew back towards where Oliver was watching him. Panting slightly, he landed on the ground and handed him the snitch.   
  
Oliver smiled. “Again,” he said, and released the whirring snitch.   
  
An hour later, Arthur was covered in droplets of sweat from head to toe. His hair was plastered to his face, his training clothes stuck to his body in uncomfortable places, and his arse was sore from balancing on hard wood for longer than advisable.   
  
And then training really began. The rest of the team arrived, and after a quick round of introductions Oliver ordered them into the air, not wanting to waste a single minute on the field.   
  
\--   
  
“You coming then?” Owain asked after Herbology.   
  
“No, I’ve got detention with Snape.”   
  
“Oh, I forgot.” Owain looked a bit disappointed. “Shame. Next time, yeah?”   
  
Merlin heartedly agreed. There was a chess tournament planned in the Slytherin common room today. Apparently Elyan was the defending champion. Merlin would have liked to give defeating Elyan a try at the very least. He had played chess with his parents, and later on with the druids. It was one of the few games he thoroughly enjoyed.   
  
But as it was, he had detention. He hurried towards Snape’s classroom.   
  
The door was ajar, but when he went to push it open, voices floated through the air.   
  
“Imagine the power it could bring us, the riches. Think about it.”   
  
“I have given you my answer,” Snape’s cold voice rang.   
  
“Don’t make rash decisions; give it some more thought. You know where to find me. Take your time.”   
  
The second voice sounded louder, closer, and Merlin quickly hid in an alcove.   
  
The door creaked open. Merlin held his breath. Borden, dressed in grey robes, passed by without a backwards glance.   
  
When he’d passed the corner, Merlin sagged in relief—it had definitely sounded like a conversation he wasn’t meant to overhear—and came out of the alcove. He knocked on the now open door.   
  
“Come in.”   
  
Merlin entered the room, closing the door behind him.   
  
Snape regarded him for a moment, his unblinking gaze unnerving Merlin, before he said, “Right on time. Very well. Come here.”   
  
Merlin joined Snape behind the teacher’s desk. There were ingredients spread out all over it and a cauldron was sat on the fire.   
  
“As the Quidditch season is starting, Gaius has requested a batch of potions. Mostly potions to heal and regrow broken bones. You will be helping me brew these potions. If you have any questions, it would be in your best interest to ask them before you make a mistake, as you will be staying until we have filled all vials with a perfect potion. Understood?”   
  
Merlin nodded and rolled up his sleeves.   
  
Snape sneered in distaste. “Do clean your hands, Mr. Ambrosius. It won’t do to poison everyone with your germs.”   
  
Merlin looked down at himself. He was covered in mud from potting asphodels for the entire Herbology period. He washed his hands, and when Snape didn’t comment any further, got to work.   
  
The work was surprisingly relaxing. He started off by cutting and smashing the herbs. Little by little, Snape gave him more responsibility, letting him stir and mix and add ingredients, with firm instructions. In the end, Merlin prepared the potion for regrowing bones on his own while Snape focused on another potion.   
  
Snape gave him a tight-lipped smile, and Merlin accepted it for the silent approval it was.   
  
Afterwards, he headed straight to the great hall for dinner. George, Fred, and Elyan waved him over as soon as he entered. They were seated a bit off from the main group of Slytherins, so he walked over and took a seat next to George.   
  
“What’s up?”   
  
George leaned closer, conspiratorially. “Well, now that you have officially passed our test, it’s time for your first prank.”   
  
“We have a reputation to uphold, so we can’t be seen slacking off!”   
  
Merlin grabbed some orange juice and poured himself a glass.   
  
“Have anyone in mind yet?” Elyan asked.   
  
Merlin took a deep gulp to give himself some time to ponder. And then he thought back to the conversation he just overheard between Snape and Borden. “Do you have a class with Borden?”   
  
George scoffed. “Sadly enough, yes. Can’t stand him. He’s teaching us more about how much the organs of fire-krabs and kappas are worth than on how to defend yourself against them.”   
  
Merlin nodded excitedly. “Exactly! He’s obsessed with money, which makes this perfect.”   
  
As he explained his plan, they listened with a glint in their eyes, as they began coming up with ways to help Merlin with spells that might be too advanced for a first-year.   
  
“You sure you don’t want to lead him to the dungeons though?” Fred remarked, a bit too eagerly. “I’d like to see his face when he finds himself in one room with that dog!”   
  
“No,” Merlin said. “You’re not planning another trip there, are you?”   
  
Fred and George shared a look, and Merlin knew that he’d guessed right. “Oh no,” he said in a low, threatening voice. “You guys might be Gryffindor courageous, but that _thing_ is dangerous. I’m a Slytherin, so I’ll do _whatever_ it takes to protect my friends.” And to keep them or other hapless people from going to the East wing, he mentally added. He glanced over at Elyan, and he got the feeling that he’d just found his ally.   
  
\-- 

Julius smiled as the last students slipped out, letting the corners of his mouth drop the moment they closed the door behind them. He sank back into his chair. By the beard of Emrys, did he hate teaching. He couldn’t care less whether a 14-year old knew how to defend themselves against a blast-ended skrewt or if they kept an elking for a pet. He had no clue why Snape would want the Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching spot so badly. Maybe because Dark Arts were so much more efficient to fuel the children’s nightmares with than potions. He _did_ seem to find scaring the students such fun.   
  
At least it was Friday. For Julius, the weekend had begun.   
  
He pocketed his wand, and got up. He had no time to waste lingering about. He still had a lot of research to do, now that Snape didn’t seem keen on helping him.   
  
He walked towards the corridor and locked the door behind him. The ceiling of the classroom was covered in skeletons of rare monsters, and especially the one of a fire-dwelling salamander he’d spotted in the corner, which was worth quite a penny. No need to invite students with less than pure intentions to have an unsupervised look around at all the valuables.   
  
Julius made for the staircase when the tell-tale glistening of gold attracted his attention. There, on the windowsill, was a galleon innocently lying about.   
  
He gasped involuntarily. He clasped his hands over his mouth and glanced around, but no one had noticed that there was something amiss. He wandered towards the window, and while throwing a look out the window, he grabbed the piece of gold. Then he went back on his merry way. But he had taken no more than five steps away from the window when another coin came into sight. It was lying on the floor. By now the corridor had cleared of all students, since their next class had started, so he didn’t even try to be subtle. He crouched down and snatched it.   
  
He had landed on a trail of galleons! He wondered if someone’s purse had acquired an unfortunate hole. But the bigger part of him didn’t care. He wasn’t going to oppose his good fortune. His fruitless travels had cost him a small fortune, and while a handful of galleons were worth nothing compared to those unicorn organs, this would certainly contribute to filling the financial pit left behind. And he could only count on the unicorn organs for so long; Tyr had already noticed the disappearances and even that idiot of a groundskeeper would mention it to Kilgharrah before too long, making it too dangerous altogether for Julius to continue. Hopefully he’d find the real treasure soon; then there would a financial mountain instead of a pit!   
  
He turned a corner as he put the coins into his pocket. At the other end there was a girl picking up the coins! Her hands were clutched around as many as she could hold without dropping them. She hadn’t noticed him, too busy stealing _his_ trail. That wouldn’t do.   
  
Julius strode towards her, channeling the authority he held as a teacher.   
  
When the girl saw him, she pocketed the coins, and frowned at him. “Sir?”   
  
Julius whipped out his wand, and said, “Give me those galleons.”   
  
“Sir?” she asked again, this time a note of fear in her voice.   
  
“Empty your pockets, young lady.” He shook his wand at her.   
  
She nodded with wide eyes and gave him the coins. They clinked against each other in his hand, and he quickly put them away out of sight.   
  
“Obliviate!”   
  
Immediately her eyes glazed over, and Julius led her towards the stairs.   
  
He sneaked back to the remainder of the trail, but as he bent low to continue his treasure hunt, there was a muffled curse.

 

Julius jumped up and turned towards the source of the noise. The corridor seemed to be empty. Maybe it had been a gust of wind...but maybe it hadn’t. Julius’ spine tingled. What if it hadn’t been a broken purse either? There were enough dark corners and alcoves to be hiding in. Anyone could be watching him.  
  
Keeping his eyes trained on the general direction of the earlier sound, Julius gripped his wand tighter. “Homenum revelio.”   
  
About five feet away, an unnatural glow lit up. His thumb slid a bit higher on the wand as he lowered it, holding it inconspicuously at his side.   
  
With loud steps he approached the alcove light that only he could see was emanating from. There was a hastened whisper and Julius smirked. Culprit found.   
  
In the alcove one of his younger students stood. Good, they were easier to push around.   
  
“H-hi, professor.”   
  
Julius merely hummed in reply.   
  
“I found these.” He opened his hands and inside were galleons, even more appealing when they looked so big compared to the boy’s small fingers. “I saw you gathering them, so I figured I should give these to you.”   
  
He met Julius’ eyes, flinched away, and stared at his shoes, biting his lip.   
  
“Thanks,” Julius said after having let the silence stretch for a bit, and he grabbed the coins.   
  
“Anytime,” the boy mumbled.   
  
Julius made to walk away. When robes rustled behind him, he plastered a smile on his face and turned around.   
  
“Tell me, boy, would you say you’re a good liar?”   
  
The boy froze and blushed. “Erm, I don’t know…S-sometimes, I guess? Maybe? Why?”   
  
In reply, Julius grumbled, “Stupefy!”   
  
The boy fell down, confused frown still on his face, and Julius hurried towards him. He crouched down and untangled the trademark red neckerchief from around the boy’s neck.   
  
“Because you’re going to need to be,” he answered while pocketing the garment. It would be keeping him safe from Tyr for a little while longer. “Oh, and before I forget it: obliviate.”   
  
Julius straightened his back and flattened his robes. Without another backwards glance, he walked to his chambers. When he passed some students, he smiled thinly at them. _Teenagers_ . He really could not wrap his head around the fact that people became teachers and spent time around them willingly. They were so uninspired, unknowledgeable, preoccupied with mere whims. He couldn’t wait for this year to be over and to leave all these pubescent hormones behind for good.   
  
He was glad to arrive at his room, putting a physical barrier between them and himself. Fortunately his day hadn’t been a complete waste so far, earning him a couple of dozen galleons!   
  
Julius reached inside his robes. Instead of the smooth coolness of gold, however, his hand touched something warm and wet. With a shiver he pulled out his hand, which was covered in a brown, smelly substance.   
  
“Dung!”   
  
\-- 

_Merlin pressed his back against the wall, making himself as small as possible._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Thanks,” the man to the left of him said._ _  
_ _  
_ _Merlin turned his head towards him. “Anytime.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Borden handed him the key, and Merlin grabbed it to lock the door._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Tell me, Merlin, would you say you’re a good liar?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Merlin grinned uneasily, thinking about how many secrets he had, the amount of lies he told his best friend everyday. “Yeah, if I need to be.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _The key turned in the lock. Something was flung against his head, and before he could cry out at the sharp pain, darkness overwhelmed him._ _  
_ _  
_ Merlin’s eyelids flickered open. He half expected to find himself lying in an entrance somewhere, legs warmed by the sun that had started its ascend towards heaven, and the air a stale smell of a city that was never clean. When he focused, however, there was only a coldness and crispness to the air.   
  
He got up slowly while gathering his wits. Magic thrummed in the air. It was unbound and spirited, coming in waves from behind the closed doors in the hallways and, more steadily, from the walls and the paintings hung on it. It was nothing like —   
  
“Hogwarts, of course!” How could he have forgotten? And why had he been lying on the ground?   
  
He remembered his conversation with Borden then. They’d been somewhere else, and Borden hadn’t been dressed in robes, but in a plain shirt and trousers, but it had definitely been him. He must have cursed Merlin for some reason…Gaius _had_ tried to warn Merlin about him. Or had he?   
  
Someone clapped him on the shoulder. “Merlin!”   
  
Merlin shook his head, dispelling his thoughts long enough to see that it was Elyan.   
  
“Here you are. How’d it go?”   
  
“How did what go?”   
  
“The prank! Did Borden fall for it?”   
  
Merlin’s eyes widened. He could recall waiting in the shadows for Borden to leave his classroom, but everything that came after was one big blank.   
  
“I think he cursed me.”   
  
Elyan gripped his arm. “What?”   
  
“I can’t remember anything at all.”   
  
“Sounds like a memory charm.” Elyan’s eyes were boring into Merlin’s, and his eyebrows drew together.   
  
“I need to tell the Headmaster!”   
  
Elyan dropped his hand and his eyes shifted away. “I’m not so sure he’ll be much help,” he mumbled.   
  
“Why not? He’s hardly going to stand by and do nothing when a professor is going around messing with students’ minds, is he?” Merlin didn’t sound as confident as he’d liked and Elyan picked up on it, giving him a reassuring — albeit weak — smile.   
  
“Of course. His office is on the 8th floor of the south tower. If you need me, I’m going to the library.”   
  
Elyan left at that, and Merlin was left on his own to bemoan the lack of elevators once more. Granted, the students didn’t get PE and besides the flying class, they had no exercise whatsoever, so all this stair-climbing was good to keep them in shape. But that still didn’t mean Merlin appreciated the practice.   
  
Students milled about in the hallways, chattering without hurry. The majority were making their way outside so they could soak up the last sunrays of summer now that they were no longer confined to stuffy classrooms. The higher Merlin got, the fewer students he encountered, and the 8th floor was entirely devoid of anyone.   
  
Aside from the windows that reached towards the ceiling, there was nothing but the statuette of a tarrasque. Merlin walked towards it. Magic radiated towards him. He laid a hand on top of its head, as if in trance, and whispered, “Open.”   
  
Merlin reeled back, not because the tarrasque’s shell lifted from its body, revealing steps on the inside, nor because it grew bigger and bigger until the top step came to a stop right beneath the ceiling, and not even because the spikes on the back of the shell spread outwards and rested on the floor so it could support the stairs’ weight. Instead, a shiver slunk down his spine because his voice had come out all wrong, about twenty octaves lower than his still-high voice, and was comprised of garbling guttural sounds.   
  
Goosebumps raised on his skin, and the urge to flee was hard to suppress. Merlin rubbed his arms, and put a foot on the first step. Then he inhaled deeply, and climbed the stairs. He ducked his head, but when he put his hand on the ceiling to look for a hidden latch, it went right through. He straightened his neck, and his head went through some barrier, magic brushing against his face. As he took the last steps, he took his surroundings in. He found his head — and shoulders, and arms, and hips — in an antechamber. The room was bare, much like the 8th floor. However, the decoration was much more sober. There were no rooms, only a wooden chair and door, the latter of which was stood ajar.   
  
“Come in, young sorcerer.”   
  
Merlin raised an eyebrow, but followed the voice inside, only to come to an abrupt stop. The room — sizeable in its own right — was so cluttered he feared taking a single step and risk breaking his neck. Knickknacks were spread over the floor, the desk, random tables, the window sills — and there were many of those, considering the whole room was surrounded by glass panes that were too modern for an ancient castle — shelves, and basically any surface that could hold some weight . T here was also a vase that by all rights should have collapsed underneath the weight of that stack of books, so there was probably magic involved as well.   
  
Headmaster Kilgharrah, it seemed, was a hoarder.   
  
“What brings you here?” his voice rang out from behind a mannequin.   
  
Merlin stepped towards it, tripping over a silver miniature Eiffel Tower, a chocolate globe, and...stilettos?!   
  
“I wanted to relay my concerns about a professor.”   
  
Kilgharrah popped out from behind the doll with pins and needles between his lips, but somehow he still managed to grin slyly. “Out with it.”   
  
Merlin nodded. “I suspect that Professor Borden has put a memory charm on me.”   
  
“What would make you think so?” Kilgharrah asked, sticking the needles into a needle pillow.   
  
“I remember follo — seeing the professor walking past, and next I know I’m waking up in another corridor.”   
  
“I see,” the headmaster said, arranging the pins according to the colour of their heads. “Then you must promise that you will do everything in your power to find out what plans he’s concocting and stop him.”   
  
“ _What?_ ”   
  
“He must in no way succeed in his schemes.”   
  
“But...aren’t you going to do something about it? Fire him, maybe, or keep an eye out?”   
  
Kilgharrah put the pillow around his wrist before waving it around. “I’m between a rock and a hard place.” He didn’t look all that bothered. “And besides, I trust in your abilities.” He tiptoed to his desk and started rummaging about.   
  
“But, professor…”   
  
“Anything is possible if you believe in yourself.” He didn’t even look up from the box he’d unearthed.   
  
Merlin huffed and turned.   
  
\--   
  
Elyan pulled _Advanced Charms: Pushing the Boundaries of Spellwork_ off the shelf and leafed through it. It contained huge blocks of texts sparsely interrupted by images of wand movements. Perfect.   
  
He walked towards Madam Pince when he noticed someone sitting on his right.   
  
“Gwen.” She was sitting at a table between the “History of Hogwarts” shelves and the wall. Opposite her someone was sharpening his quill. At Elyan’s call, he looked up and the smile dropped off Elyan’s face. Arthur Pendragon.   
  
Arthur stood upright and only then did Gwen take notice. “What are you doing here, _Slytherin_ ?”   
  
Gwen turned to look over her shoulder, a frown edged between her eyebrows. “Elyan!” Her forehead smoothed and she smiled.   
  
Arthur’s gaze shot towards her.   
  
“Hi Gwen, studying?”   
  
Arthur widened his eyes at Gwen’s back. “Yes, we need to write a 5-inch essay on the levitation spell.”   
  
Elyan held up his books, showing her the cover. “If you need any help, give me a shout.”   
  
“There was indeed something I wanted to ask of you. I have a letter for father; will you send it?”   
  
“You’re _siblings_ ?” Arthur put his hands on the table, squaring his shoulders and glaring at Elyan.   
  
“Arthur, meet Elyan, my brother.” She motioned towards him, biting her lip. “Elyan — ”   
  
“But — but…he’s a Slytherin!”   
  
“Thanks, I hadn’t noticed,” Elyan said dryly. Gwen scooted back in her chair, and Elyan stepped closer towards her.   
  
“But you seemed so nice!” Arthur gaped at Gwen before grabbing his bag and stuffing parchment and pens in his bag. “I need to go.”   
  
Elyan and Gwen stared at him as he left, practically fleeing the library. When silence fell, Elyan winced. “I’m sorry that he abandoned you like that. You seemed to be getting along just fine.”   
  
Gwen gripped his arm and squeezed. “No matter.” Her voice was more subdued than usual, though, and Elyan wanted to ask her if she was alright, but she waved him off. “Anyway, my letter?”   
  
Elyan decided to drop the subject for now; after all the son of Uther Pendragon getting all hung up about houses wasn’t a shocker, and how good of friends could she really have been with him? “Oh right, the first trip to Hogsmeade is in three weeks. I’ll post it in the mail then.”   
  
He’d planned to go to Crovie anyway to check their hired post box, because now that Elyan was allowed outside now and then as a third-year, their father had promised to write as often as possible.   
  
The corners of her mouth lifted before her gaze drifted to something behind him. “Library’s busy today,” she said.   
  
Elyan turned. Merlin was walking stiffly towards them. “Back already?”   
  
Merlin shrugged, his cheery grin nowhere in sight.   
  
“So it went that well, huh?”   
  
Merlin’s eyes flickered towards Gwen, and he said, “Oh, are you studying on your own?”   
  
And before Elyan knew it, Gwen and Merlin had scheduled a weekly study session, and he was being dragged out of the library by Merlin with a last reminder to post Gwen’s letter ringing in his ears. Once outside the library Merlin faltered, so Elyan lead him towards their dorms. Now that half of the castle’s population was outside to catch summer’s tail-end, it would be quiet there.   
  
“I didn’t want to worry Gwen,” Merlin started once they were seated in a leather sofa. “Basically. I was invited to solve the problem myself.”   
  
Elyan wasn’t surprised at all; nevertheless, there was disappointment. “So, he won’t do anything?”   
  
“Nope.” Merlin popped the ‘p’.   
  
“So what’s the plan?” Although it shouldn’t be Merlin’s responsibility to make sure no one else got memory charmed — or worse — by a professor, Elyan could see the resolve on Merlin’s face and knew that he’d take it up anyway.   
  
“Not sure yet. But first things first; I don’t expect Kilgharrah to make the eastern dungeons any safer, so we have to make sure that no one enters them by accident.”   
  
Elyan rubbed his mouth and sighed. He was dying to know what a giant three-headed monster was doing in a school of all places, but Kilgharrah’s mysterious ways would always elude him. It was a battle that could never be won. Who knew what else he’d been up to since becoming a headmaster? Elyan wouldn’t put it past him to keep a herd of death-eaters on the premises, to be honest. “How?”   
  
“Well, don’t you guys have the only map of Hogwarts? I need to know all of the possible entrances to the east wing.”   
  
Elyan leaned forwards, his elbows on his knees. “I’m listening.”


	7. Of Friends and Foes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just noticed that first I had Hagrid as groundkeeper, and later on Tyr, so I edited Hagrid out.  
> Smaller chapter than usual, but also sooo much faster, like only a month since the last update. ;-)
> 
> PS: I know that only like 5 people still follow this story, but a couple of you have been leaving comments, and it honestly makes my day every single time, so let me be cheesy and dedicate this chapter to you.

“Professor, could I talk to you for a minute, please?”   
  
The last students trickled out of the room at a steady pace, most of them already—or still—talking about the upcoming Quidditch game. Tomorrow Slytherin and Hufflepuff would officially kick off the season. As first-years they hadn’t seen an official match at the school yet, and even though they were too young to be allowed to participate themselves, it didn’t stop the rush of excitement and a couple of sneaky bets to be placed.   
  
Snape didn’t even look up from his parchment as he said, “Do close the door first.”   
  
Merlin, who had discovered Snape’s dislike for the drafts that lingered perpetually in the dungeons during his last detention, was in the middle of doing so, and threw a grin at Snape’s bowed head. However, by the time Snape lifted his head, Merlin had composed himself with his hands folded behind his back, as he figured that even a resemblance of politeness and patience would get him much further with Snape than if he were to jump right in.   
  
“To what do I owe the questionable pleasure of your company, Mr. Ambrosius?”   
  
Merlin took a step closer, as slowly as possible. “I was wondering if you could offer some advice to me, professor. I was reading up on potions, and discovered that nearly any fluid can be given magical properties with the right brewing technique. In fact, fluids can be used as vessels to contain powerful spells.”   
  
Snape’s eyebrows lifted minutiously. “And pray tell, why are you informing me of something that I already know?”   
  
“Well, a fluid can only be so useful as a vessel, can’t it? Because they tend to evaporate or get mopped up or even wash away with the first bout of rain?”   
  
Snape inclined his head.   
  
“So, I wanted to know if there was a way to stop any of these things happening, to make sure the fluid, and as such the spell, will hold for as long as the caster desires?”   
  
“Mr. Ambrosius,” Snape started after a short silence, “why are you asking me for?”   
  
“Because I’m ever so thirsty to learn more about magic?”   
  
Snape exhaled through his nose. “And yet you’re not a Ravenclaw.”   
  
Merlin threw him a charming smile. “Most Ravenclaws don’t seem to like Potions anywhere near as much as I do.”   
  
Snape turned around then with his cloak swirling behind him. He walked to the other side of the room and grabbed a vial and a book. He put them both down on a desk in the front row.   
  
“Turn to page 812. Memorize the spell. Then we’ll practise on Gili’s latest potion before you learn the counterspell. Emrys knows nothing of Gili’s should ever be permanently stuck on anything.”   
  
Merlin sat down and opened the book. “Liquor maneat in aeternum.” The words came out clunky, the sounds foreign on his tongue.   
  
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are very fortunate indeed that I don’t have any urgent business to attend to this weekend.”   
  
\--   
  
Despite training once a week on the training fields, Arthur had not expected to feel this awed at sitting in the tribunes. They were filled to the brim with students peering down at the field and waiting for the teams to enter. Madame Hooch was already in the middle of the field. Her walk there had made a hush go through the students before noise erupted once more with people cheering for the players.   
  
Most of the noise came from the Hufflepuffs, a big yellow sea of students that took up nearly half of the tribunes—unfortunately it was also the part where the Gryffindors were seated, something Arthur’s left ear regretted dearly thanks to the trumpeteering Hufflepuff not three feet away—since they were playing today against Slytherin. The Slytherins were huddled together with some of the Ravenclaws, a blotch of green amidst all the blue.   
  
Two figures hurried across the field. As they came closer, Arthur could make out their faces, and was surprised-but-not-really to see that it was Snape and Merlin. He couldn’t imagine anyone willingly spending time with Snape, or Snape with anyone for that matter, but then again Snape had taken a shine to his potion-making, Slytherin prodigee. Arthur rolled his eyes. He couldn’t wait to see those Slytherin arses get kicked by the bumbling Hufflepuffs.   
  
Just then the gates opened and two neat lines of students emerged.   
  
The Hufflepuffs, lead by Cedric Diggory, all were brandishing Nimbus 2000’s. Although the boy closing their ranks couldn’t be much older than 13—even when taking in account that the curls framing his face probably made him look younger than his actual age—most of the players were elder. It provided a stark contrast to the Slytherin players, of whom not two players seemed to be the same age. But they all shared the same gender.   
  
The boy next to Arthur stopped trumpeteering to utter, “They’re all girls?”   
  
Arthur’s reaction had been much the same when Oliver had taught him about all of the houses’ teams.   
  
“Well, whoever’s going to win the match, it’s bound to be shocking: kind Hufflepuffs or  _ girls _ .”   
  
“Don’t be so sure,” Oliver had warned him. “They’re both vicious. I wish there existed some kind of recording device so I could show you some footage. You’ll have to wait for the game to see what I mean.” Right after, he’d impressed on Arthur just how important it was that he go to every game and pay attention to the other teams’ tactics.   
  
Both teams had reached the middle of the field and were standing opposite each other, Madam Hooch between them.   
  
“Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you… Mount your brooms, please.”   
  
She opened the chest and the game took off. The two seekers, Pixie and Marie, shot up into the sky. Both went in opposite directions, but were keeping a close eye on one another, which wasn’t that hard, since Marie had on yellow robes and Pixie’s hair was a bright blue.   
  
Determined to soak up their every move, Arthur noticed how Pixie reached towards her right ankle and, in that precarious position, fumbled for her wand. Then she pointed it at herself, moved her mouth, and her hair and robes turned black. Even with Arthur’s binoculars it was hard to keep track of her.   
  
Like a black shadow she moved through the air. With sure moves she flew towards Henric, the Hufflepuff keeper, and whistled as she passed him overhead. He looked up, and right at that moment Sophia smashed the quaffle in his direction. It hit him in the stomach, and both Keeper and quaffle were sent through the goal hoop.   
  
After that, it got really dirty really fast. Pixie tailed Marie, in a worthwhile imitation of her actual shadow, while the Hufflepuff beaters ganged up on Sophia. The chasers circled Lamia and Mab relentlessly, while fighting off the Slytherin beaters, and as a consequence after half an hour it was still 0-10. It came down to the seekers.   
  
Marie didn’t pay that much attention to Pixie. She was bent low on her broom, ready to take off immediately, as she flew slowly above the field in a figure eight. The snitch showed up out of nowhere, just a few feet in front of Marie. She accelerated, her eyes glued to the snitch, and forgot all about Pixie, who sped up after her, but with her inferior broom and farther position couldn’t overtake her.   
  
Hufflepuff won with a score of 150-10.   
  
The boy next to Arthur jumped up and flung out his trumpet, nearly hitting Arthur with the blasted instrument. Still Arthur couldn’t help whistling lowly. Hufflepuff had actually won the game and thoroughly humiliated Slytherin.   
  
“Good thing we’re up against Ravenclaw first,” Wood shouted into Arthur’s ear. “We’re going to need more training sessions to prepare against Hufflepuff!”   
  
Arthur’s good mood  _ almost _ dissipated.   
  
\--   
  
“We never should have come out,” Fred moaned.   
  
“As twins,” George added, heartfelt.   
  
“Then we could alternate, each take turns at Quidditch practice.”   
  
George thumped his head on the table. “Instead of going through this never-ending hell.”   
  
Elyan patted Fred on the back. “I’m sure you’ll survive.”   
  
Forridel looked up from her book on Transfiguration. “Yeah, at least you didn’t die from humiliation. Or from Helen’s anger.”   
  
Elyan winced. “If it’s any consolation, she’s not angry at you. If you weren’t in Slytherin,  _ then _ you’d have cause for worry.”   
  
Merlin promptly pitied Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and even Gryffindors. Then he grinned at Fred and George. “For the right price I can offer you my protection. I’m sure she wouldn’t attack you with a fellow Slytherin at your side.”   
  
George gently slapped Merlin’s head. “Smart ass. How about I tell you what Elyan and I came up with for Halloween so you’re protected from peeing your pants? An exchange of protections, if you will.”   
  
Elyan snorted, and muttered something under his breath, too low for Merlin to hear.   
  
Forridel rolled up her parchment and got up. “Right, if you guys have something planned, I’d rather not know so I can plead ignorance later.”   
  
Elyan quipped, “Great idea, let me come with you!” and pushed his chair away from the table, but Fred grabbed his robes and pulled him down again.   
  
“It was your idea, so you’re already incriminated,” George said.   
  
“I could always obliviate myself?”   
  
Merlin cringed, and Elyan’s eyes widened. Fred and George noticed and looked questioningly at them both. Merlin shook his head and said, “Tell us your evil plan already. At this rate Halloween will be over by the time you tell us!”   
  
\--   
  
A screech pierced Arthur’s eardrums, and a second later a Ravenclaw girl ran past, crying.   
  
Arthur, on his way to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, stopped and stared in the direction the girl had come from. He walked around the corner and froze. A giant spider was crawling towards him.   
  
He should grab his wand and shoot a spell at it. Or use it to poke its eyes out. Or to have something to hold onto as he watched in terror as it approached. Anything but stand there in dread.   
  
But, Emrys, its paws were long and hairy, and its eyes in abundance. And its pincers…   
  
A cackle interrupted his thoughts. “I can’t believe my eyes. The great Arthur Pendragon is scared of spiders!”   
  
Arthur swivelled around, aware of the spider that had free access to his back now. “Morgana.”   
  
He had memorized the name of the girl who had teamed up with Merlin to make him look like a fool on their first day—typical Slytherin. After all, it was always wise to know the name of one’s enemies.   
  
“Or should I say, our great Bringer of Balance is scared of cats that look like spiders?” She crossed her arms and smirked.   
  
“Cats—what?”   
  
He inched closer towards Morgana, trying to put distance between him and the spider that surely must have reached him by now. Any moment now a leg would creep up his back and trap him.   
  
“Anyone with brains can see that it’s just a glamour.” She fired a spell at the beast behind Arthur and when he turned around, Mrs. Norris was licking its paws.   
  
Morgana cackled some more and wiped away a tear in mirth. “Wait till the whole school discovers that Arthur Pendragon is just a scaredy cat,” she said, and burst out laughing again.   
  
Arthur scowled. “I wasn’t afraid. It might have escaped your notice, but I’m a Gryffindor. Only people with extraordinary courage get placed in Gryffindor.”   
  
Morgana stopped laughing and appraised him. Her eyes glistened. “It is easy to make such claims. Too bad you haven’t had to prove your courage yet.”   
  
Arthur crossed his arms too. “I’ll prove it.”   
  
Morgana held his gaze and seemed to consider it. “Very well. A duel in the Forbidden Forest in one month’s time.”   
  
“But the Forbidden Forest’s forbidden!”   
  
Morgana quirked the corner of her mouth. “Scared to get caught?”   
  
Arthur spluttered. “Fine,” he spat.   
  
“Be there at midnight,” Morgana said and flipped her hair over her shoulder.   
  
Arthur shook his head and continued on to the Great Hall. By the time he got there, most of the students were already there. Even the house ghosts were present, aside from Nearly Headless Nick. There were bats flying around human-sized carved pumpkins, cobwebs—but no spiders, fortunately—and a wandering skeleton or two.   
  
The Gryffindor students were sat close together, talking animatedly, and when Arthur took a seat at the end of the group, he heard what they were talking about.   
  
“Do you think it was Kilgharrah’s idea?”   
  
“I think he wishes it was his idea,” Alan, a fourth-year, said. “If it had been his idea, the castle would be filled with giant spiders.”   
  
“So you’re saying it was a student’s? But where would anyone find a spider that size and how would they even smuggle it in?”   
  
“It was just a glamour,” Arthur said. “Someone cast a glamour on Filch’s cat so she’d look like a spider.”   
  
Immediately all attention turned towards him. “You defeated it?”   
  
“You found out? That’s smart…”   
  
“That was so brave!”   
  
Arthur grimaced and wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He was getting praise for something Morgana had done, and it left a sour taste in his mouth. He drank deeply from his goblet and nearly spat everything out when the doors burst open.   
  
“A troll! There’s a troll on the third floor!” Borden screamed before fainting.   
  
Instant chaos erupted. Some students started yelling, others jumped to their feet and made a run for it, a couple dived underneath the tables for cover.   
  
“Silence!” Albus Kilgharrah boomed. Everyone froze on the spot. “No panic. The heads of houses will lead their students towards the dormitories, while the other teachers and, more importantly, I will find this supposed danger and dispose of it. Stay with your teacher and nothing will happen to you...unless fate dictates you die at the hands of a troll, of course.”   
  
Arthur frowned at Kilgharrah, not all that comforted. But McGonagall was already making her way towards them and asked they form a line. Arthur, sitting farthest away from the doors, was last in line. He looked behind him to check that there were no Gryffindors falling behind and saw Snape get up from the head table and break away from the teachers, slipping through a door. To his left, the Slytherins were being directed by the Bloody Baron.   
  
Snape was directly ignoring Kilgharrah’s words and doing it sneakily at that. No one else had noted, aside from the Slytherins and well...they were hardly going to question their head of house.   
  
Nodding to himself, Arthur let himself fall behind and snuck towards the same door. In the chaos of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, no one noticed.   
  
The door led to a narrow corridor. There were no torches or windows, so Snape had magicked his wand to light up, making it easy for Arthur to follow him. After a hundred yards, Snape opened another door, and light flooded in.   
  
Arthur hurried forward, slipping in through the crack before the door fell shut. Arthur recognised the hallway they were in. He walked through it once a week to go Potions. Snape was already descending a staircase, but it wasn’t one Arthur ever took, and it was only partly because the staircase he frequented was closer to the Potions classroom. The other, bigger part, was because it was guarded by a signpost declaring that it was, “Forbidden to enter the eastern dungeons.”   
  
Arthur walked around the signpost and hesitated a second. Snape was almost at the bottom of the first flight of stairs, so Arthur took a deep breath, and followed.   
  
The dungeons were a maze, but Snape was confident as he made his way through. There were no monsters falling from the ceilings or traps sending them to certain death. If it hadn’t been for the signpost, Arthur wouldn’t have distinguished it from any other part of the dungeons. After a while it got boring. Every corridor was as wet and dark as the next one. Even Snape’s pace remained the same. Until he turned yet another gloomy corner and entered a spacious corridor, stopping in front of a door.   
  
Arthur sucked in a breath and leaned forward.   
  


Behind him, he heard someone else approaching. Arthur turned around, wand at the ready.   
  
Borden came running towards him. Arthur signed for him to be quiet and intercepted him.   
  
“What are you doing here, boy?” Borden squinted at Arthur’s wand.   
  
“Professor,” Arthur whispered, “it’s Professor Snape! He snuck away and I followed him. I think he’s up to something.”   
  
For the second time that day, a scream ripped through the air.   
  
Borden glanced over Arthur’s shoulder. “Really? Hmm, interesting.”   
  
“What was that?!”   
  
“I’m sure Professor Snape is fine.” Borden waved a hand. “Let’s get you back to your dorm.”

“But what about—”   
  
Borden tugged him back towards where they came from. “I’ll keep an eye on Professor Snape. No need to worry. Let the grown-up handle it.”   
  
Arthur relented. Borden was right. A first-year wouldn’t be able to do anything a DADA-teacher couldn’t.


	8. Studying Students

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May I point out that it hasn't even been a month since my last chapter? Say what? *pats self on back*

“One of the most dangerous situations to find yourself in when in flight is to suddenly have to fly blind. So, I need you all to pair up”—13 faces swivelled towards Arthur—“and take turns wearing one of these blindfolds.” Madam Hooch reached into the basket near her feet, and pulled out a handful of brown blindfolds. “Your partner will steer you, with nothing but their voices, through one of the loopholes and guide you safely back towards the ground.”  
  
Arthur studied the faces in front of him. He settled on Derian, who, for all he looked imposing, was quiet and withdrawn, and Arthur didn’t really know him. But, then again, he didn’t really know any of the other Gryffindors either. At least he would be able to catch Arthur without dropping him if this all went wrong.  
  
Derian grabbed a blindfold and tied it around his head, broom between his locked knees. Then he grabbed the broom and pushed off, hovering above the ground with shaky movements, and suddenly Arthur reconsidered. There was no way _he_ could catch _Derian_!  
  
“Go a bit higher, I’ll say stop when you’re at the same height of the loop,” Arthur said, and took a step back, crossing his fingers that Derian wouldn’t get reacquainted with the plain of grass in new and painful ways.  
  
“Stop! That’s quite high enough. The loophole is left of you. No, not that much left! A bit to the right, a bit more…”  
  
All around him students were shouting at their partners, trying to stop them from colliding with each other, the side of the loops, or the ground.  
  
Derian’s foot caught the underside of the loophole, but apart from that he got out of the exercise unscathed. Arthur took his broom and accepted the blindfold with fingers that trembled only slightly. He wasn’t _afraid_ per se. Just...cautious.  
  
The broom felt small and unsteady, and for the first time in years Arthur didn’t feel in control of the broom, but as if the broom was in control of him. He rose higher, disoriented, until Derian told him to stop. It was an exercise in balance as he leaned forward, left, and right without being sure about his position on the broom. But trying to get back down turned out to be the hardest thing by far. As he lowered, he constantly slowed the process down in fear—or rather, _sensible concern_ of being too close to the ground already and smashing down onto it. So much so that Derian informed him that he was actually flying higher instead of lower.  
  
Once he was back on solid ground again, Arthur took the blindfold off and watched the remaining students go through the movements. To his surprise, no one broke so much as a toe. When they’d finished, Madam Hooch said, “Alright, now find yourselves another partner and do it over.”  
  
12 faces turned towards him.  
  
  
Afterwards they walked together with the four Slytherins towards Potions, keeping a safe distance still, except for Gwen, who was chattering with Merlin.  
  
The door was still closed, so they huddled together in the corridor and settled down to wait. Arthur couldn’t quite follow any of the conversations and so, taking on a stance of comfortable solitude, he leaned against the wall next to the door instead. It promptly swung open, and Snape looked balefully at him before disappearing back inside. The other students tittered nervously as they shot Arthur looks that ranged from nervousness to simple disinterest (typical Slytherins).  
  
Arthur straightened and went inside to sit at his usual spot. But Gwen, his usual Potions partner, walked straight past him, as did the others. Eventually Chen, the last one to enter the room, slipped in beside Arthur.  
  
“Open your books to page 87. Prepare it like you are supposed to and you will have created a Forgetfulness potion. With some luck, some of you will even succeed so that I may drink it and forget about what failures the others are.”  
  
Snape remained seated for ten minutes. By that time Arthur had read the recipe and grabbed the ingredients, starting to crush the mistletoe berries, and Chen had set up their cauldron and added Lethe River Water to it, stirring it.  
  
Snape got up and limped towards the first table.  
  
“You call that medium-fine?” Snape grabbed Victor’s mortar and threw it into the sink. “Start again, and this time make sure it won’t be a random mix of ingredients with chunks of mistletoe berries. Crush them properly.”  
  
Arthur eyed his own crushed berries and wondered if perhaps they were fine-fine instead of medium-fine. He glanced at Snape and his wonders turned darker. Why was he still teaching? He’d been the one to release the troll, no doubt, so he could go to the dungeons while everyone was distracted. Judging by his foul mood, his newly developed limp, and the scream that Arthur still couldn’t imagine had come from _Snape_ , whatever he’d been doing in the dungeons hadn’t gone too well.  
  
But neither had Borden’s ‘handling’ of the entire case gone too well. Two weeks had gone by and everyone in the school seemed to be none the wiser of Snape’s actions. The incident had been brushed off. The only reminder that it had actually happened was the moment everyone entered Borden’s classroom for DADA and remembered how he’d fainted like a girl, and during Herbology, where everyone had taken a sudden interest in the plants Madam Sprout taught them about. According to the rumours that were whispered behind students’ hands, she had heroically summoned a batch of Devil’s Snare, which had wrapped itself around the troll and choked it to death. During their first class after the rumours had spread, he and the other Gryffindors had asked questions about Devil’s Snare for a whole period.  
  
“Arthur, it’s five counter-clockwise stirs, not clockwise,” Chen whispered.  
  
Arthur nodded, but didn’t look down to see how he’d probably ruined their chances of getting the perfect potion.  
  
In front of him, Owain was keeping an eye on their simmering cauldron as Merlin sniffed their mistletoe berries before weighing them in his hands with a contemplative look on his face. Then, instead of crushing them with the rest of the ingredients, he grabbed a knife and cut them up into tiny squares.  
  
Arthur suppressed a sigh. No matter what he did or how much he ignored the instructions, Merlin’s potions always ended up perfect. He talked to Owain in a soft voice while cutting. Probably explaining his reasoning for veering off course. If only he explained it to the entire class, or, even better, if Snape explained the logic behind the potion-making so they could figure out how to do these things as well. Or, if Snape got fired for letting a troll into the castle, and got replaced by a teacher who explained anything at all. Or, if he really downed a bottle of Forgetfulness potion and forgot all about them, allowing for a competent teacher to take his place. If only, indeed.  
  
\--  
  
Merlin groaned. He felt like braining himself with the book on his lap, but sadly he needed both his brains and the book. This was even worse than a History of Magic, and it was the _weekend_ for Emrys’ sake!  
  
“If you’re contemplating jumping out of a window, please be considerate of your fellow house-mates and don’t try it with a window that is keeping us at a nice distance of all that water. Drowning in this dungeon is not my preferred method of death.”  
  
Merlin threw the book at Owain’s head, but missed and it landed with a thump on the floor.  
  
Owain picked it up. “...nor do I fancy death by a Latin book… Why are you learning Latin?”  
  
Merlin dragged a hand through his hair. “Charms is still not going too well, so I thought that if I could understand the words I’m saying, it might help?”  
  
“So, why are you learning Latin grammar instead of vocabulary?”  
  
Merlin shrugged. “Because that looked easier than all those words.” And, as Snape had oh-so-kindly pointed out, Merlin’s pronunciation was something awful, so he didn’t really see the point in learning words that would come out the wrong way anyway.  
  
Owain dragged a chair next to Merlin. The book got laid on a nearby desk. Most of the desks were empty, most students lounging on the sofas and chatting with each other. It was one of those weekends. “Dude, you’re going about this the wrong way. Trust me.”  
  
Merlin looked sharply at him. “You know Latin?”  
  
Owain grimaced. “Had to live up to the cliches about posh families.” He held out a hand. “Now show me what books you picked.”  
  
“Snape picked,” Merlin muttered.  
  
Owain raised an eyebrow and Merlin said, “Don’t ask,” hurrying to pull his pile of books on Latin closer to Owain. Owain skimmed through them. At intervals he hummed, the sound barely audible over Oswald and Ethan’s banter. Then he handed Merlin the book on vocabulary back and laid the others next to the one on grammar.  
  
“How quickly do you hope to learn?”  
  
 _The sooner I do, the faster I can help Elyan create a spell to protect people from a_ giant three-headed _dog_ , didn’t quite seem like the right thing to say, so Merlin settled on, “As fast as possible?”  
  
Owain nodded as if confirming his suspicions. “Memorise one page each evening. I’ll quiz you next weekend.”  
  
Merlin blanched and sighed in defeat. “Thanks for wanting to help.”  
  
Owain grinned. “No problem. I enjoy making people suffer.”  
  
Merlin looked at the window. Maybe dying in the company of his three-eyed fish would be preferable after all. He sighed.  
  
Deciding that if the others could get a lazy start on the weekend, so could he, he went to his chambers, dumping the books one by one on his bookshelf with a satisfying _thump_.  
  
“What’s the matter with you?”  
  
Merlin jumped. Morgana was standing in the doorway, smirk on her face.  
  
“Morgana! What are you doing here? This is the boys’ room!”  
  
Morgana tucked her chin. “You have to share? Poor boys.”  
  
Merlin cleared his throat and walked towards Morgana to divert her attention from Gili, who was napping and lying on the covers of his bed in nothing but his boxers.  
  
“What brings you here, though?”  
  
Morgana ignored Merlin, leaning around him to point to the books he’d just stashed away. “What books are those? They don’t look like the standard ones.”  
  
“I’m studying Latin.”  
  
Morgana tilted her head.  
  
“Just trying to get better at Charms. Being the only one who can’t make a feather float is rather humiliating.”  
  
“Did Arthur mock you again?” She clenched her fist. “He’s not even adept at magic; the only reason why people think he is, is because he’s the balance-bringer.”  
  
“No!” Merlin opened his arms and looked Morgana in the eye. “He’s left me alone. We haven’t spoken to each other since the first day of school.”  
  
Morgana didn’t look convinced, so Merlin quickly changed the topic away from Arthur. “Anyway, why are you here?”  
  
“Katrina requested everyone’s presence in the common room.”  
  
“Right now?”  
  
Morgana winced. “Five minutes ago.”  
  
Merlin swore and hit Gili in the face with a pillow. Gili fell out of bed, and Morgana barked out a laugh before leaving.  
  
She was still smiling smugly when Merlin dragged a half-naked Gili down the stairs five minutes later. They slipped in next to Sophia, who sniffed her nose at them, but didn’t look away from the front of the room.  
  
“Now that everyone’s here,” Katrina said and threw them a venomous look, “I’d like to make an announcement. No point in beating around the bush. The Quidditch team needs to up their game if we don’t want to become the laughing stock of this school. _Everyone’s_ reputation is on the line here, so we’re all in this together. Therefore I’m sure you will all agree” —her tone brooked no argument—“to take part in extra Quidditch practice so that the team can practice new tactics against opponents.”  
  
Merlin opened his mouth, brain working furiously to come up with an excuse not to partake—because Emrys knew that he couldn’t possibly admit to only having found one broom that didn’t throw him off in mid-air, a broom that was safely in Madam Hooch’s broom closet—but Katrina’s eyes shot towards him. “No exceptions.”  
  
He snapped his mouth closed and nodded meekly.  
  
“Since there’s 12 of you, we can play around a bit, forming different matchups so the actual team can practice against varying combinations. I’ll put up a list with who is expected when and in what capacity. Keep an eye on the noticeboard.”  
  
Merlin exchanged a look with Gili. They’d seen them practice once before. Despite their loss in the first game, the girls were _good_.  
  
They were dead. If they didn’t show up, Katrina would kill them, but if they did come to practice, the girls would kick their arses so hard they would wish for death.  
  
\--  
  
“You do know that your parents will kill you for this, don’t you?”  
  
“Hogwarts is the safest castle on earth. They’d have to wait for us to come home to get their hands on us, and by then they’ll have forgotten it. I’m good.” Fred smiled, displaying more confidence than Elyan felt, possibly because he was actually aware of the flaws in Fred’s reasoning.  
  
“You do know Christmas break isn’t that far off, don’t you?”  
  
The smile dropped off Fred’s face. “We’re still doing it. I’ll blame George.”  
  
Elyan snorted, but hitched up the toilet seat higher on his shoulder. As soon as he’d left the Slytherin common room, Fred had cornered him and dragged him to the abandoned loos on the third floor. It was not as kinky as it sounded, nevermind the wet knees on Elyan’s trousers; the only thing he’d gone on his knees for was the toilet to detach its seat. “As long as you leave me out of it.”  
  
Fred raised a hand and Elyan stopped. “Teacher coming our way. There’s a corridor behind the tapestry of the pineapple.”  
  
Elyan quickened his pace. They ducked behind the tapestry and waited with bated breath for the footsteps to disappear into the distance.  
  
“Speaking of Christmas presents,” Fred said once the coast was clear, “what are you getting your family?”  
  
“I bought my sister flowers that never die, but I’m not sure yet what to get my father. I’ll have a look around Crovie during the next Hogsmeade trip. What about you?”  
  
“I’m Ginny’s secret Santa, _ho ho ho_. I’ll buy her a diary and enchant it to talk back to her.”  
  
Elyan grinned. “Because that’s not creepy at all.”  
  
“I’m sure she’ll love it,” Fred said, and waggled his eyebrows.  
  
They reached the owlery. It was silent, as the owls were sleeping with their heads tucked into their wings. Errol was in his usual place near the back of the room. Fred gently woke him up after pocketing the map, letting him scuffle onto his forefinger. Elyan placed a feather-light charm on the toilet seat as Fred whispered to Errol, and attached it to Errol’s paw. An idea struck him and, while Fred kept whispering and stroking Errol’s head, Elyan muttered another spell and a red bow wrapped itself around the seat.  
  
Fred stopped his whispering and smiled slightly. “Don’t fly into the window this time, Errol.”  
  
He stretched his arm out and Errol flew off. Fred dusted off his robes and watched as Elyan put his wand away.  
  
The door creaked open and a girl entered the owlery. She froze when she saw them, before walking in all the way.  
  
“Hi, Morgana.”  
  
“Elyan.” Morgana gave him a curt nod.  
  
Her tone was as good an end to a potential conversation as any, so Elyan nudged Fred and they walked towards the door. Moving to pull it closed behind them, Elyan turned around and spotted a black bird landing on Morgana’s arm. Was that a raven? He leant closer to the door to get a better look, but Morgana shifted her body then, so that it obscured the bird from view. Fred called out to Elyan and he clicked the door shut.  
  
“Where to now?”  
  
“The library,” Elyan said. “I need to find out the ideal wand movements for this new spell.”  
  
Fred groaned. “You are _such_ a nerd. I can’t believe we’re friends!”  
  
Elyan put his hands in his pockets. “You don’t need to come along.”  
  
“No, no, I’ll come! I want to spell the armours to sing Christmas carols whenever someone walks past, so I need to do some research anyway.”  
  
“Yet you call me a nerd.”  
  
“It’s not being a nerd if it’s _dirty_ lyrics.” Fred waggled his eyebrows.  
  
“You’re doing research; believe me, that’s firmly on nerd ground.”  
  
Fred opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He snapped it shut and shoved Elyan, to which Elyan grinned and ran off towards the library.  
  
\--  
  
The library was full. It was too cold outside without snow to make it fun. Or, at least, most people seemed to think that snow was fun. Arthur mostly found it bothersome. It was just another form of wetness, if you asked him, and it made training harder. But if snow would lure the mass of people outdoors, maybe it wouldn’t be all bad since there were so many people in the library that not even Madam Pince could glare them all into silence.  
  
Arthur heaved a sigh. He could just get the books and study in the Gryffindor chambers, but he’d just fled those because, while less crowded, they contained Nathalie—a second-year who was not-so-subtly trying to harass him into inviting her to his father’s Christmas party. And learning defensive magic was too important to get interrupted by her badgering. Not that his life depended on it, but it was still wise to learn how to protect his limbs against certain curses.  
  
He didn’t trust Morgana not to attack him with dangerous spells. And if he went on the offence, she just might go running towards Snape or Kilgharrah, crying that he’d attacked her. His best hope was to disarm her.  
  
Arthur wriggled _101 Defensive Spells_ from its shelf. He needed to learn as many useful defensive spells as possible to fend her off long enough to disarm her. There was no doubt in his mind that Morgana had some tricks up her sleeve. She was a Slytherin after all.  
  
It was a wonder she wasn’t friends with Gwen, who seemed awfully keen on them. At the moment she was studying at her usual table with that brother of hers and one of the Weasley twins. Arthur sneered. Not that Arthur was memorizing where Gwen sat; if not for the fact that he’d studied at the very same table with her a couple of times until her _brother_ turned out to be a Slytherin, he wouldn’t have known the difference. As it was, though, his gaze was drawn to it.  
  
Each was engrossed in their studies, not even talking to each other. And yet a sense of camaraderie waved off of them. Arthur wondered what that was like. Until Gwen, he’d only ever studied alone or in the company of a tutor, partly because Uther forbid him to study with other people, partly borne out of fear of distraction. And while Arthur had studied with Gwen, it was...a convenient partnership, not studying together for the sake of being in one another’s company.  
  
A pang shot through his chest, and Arthur swallowed, clutching _101 Defensive Spells_ tighter. There was no time for such musing, only two more weeks until his first real duel. It would be a good test to see how far along he was in coming into his full potential of balance-bringer. It was not a test he wanted to fail.


	9. Rules are made to be broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There has been a minor fuck-up from my side, where apparently I kept inserting Owain into situations only a fellow 1rst-year could be in, while he is a 2nd-year.
> 
> The good news is that I fixed that AND that this is my longest chapter yet, I think! :D
> 
> Also shout-out to Mr. D for using his Latin skillz for this great cause.

Merlin woke up to the sight of the one-eyed fish. It was currently a blood red which would darken into purple as the day progressed. Merlin particularly liked its velvety red colour, only partly because that meant noon was close.  
  
He swung his legs out of bed and stumbled around the room, getting ready for the day. A groan resounded behind Daegal’s bed curtains. “It’s the weekend, by Emrys’ beard.”   
  
“According to Freddi the Fish, it’s already 9AM, and I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not play against the girls on an empty stomach.”   
  
Daegal cursed and his curtains flew open. He threw a pillow at Gili’s head, who startled awake. “Wut?”   
  
“Breakfast is almost over!”   
  
Gili fell out of bed in his haste to get up, and Merlin began walking down the stairs to the tune of muffled curses and more tripping. As he waited for Gili and Daegal to finish up, Merlin scanned the noticeboard, sighing when no, his name hadn’t disappeared overnight, and yes, he really was today’s opposing Chaser.   
  
A hand patted his shoulder. “You know, Katrina did try to exclude you for as long as possible. She’s afraid that this time you’ll somehow single-handedly take down the entire team the moment you get on your broom. Because then all that training will have been pointless and we don’t even have replacements for the team, so we won’t win the Quidditch cup, and only if we win that do we stand a chance of not being last in the inter-house competition.”   
  
Merlin muttered, “Thanks, Pixie. That makes me feel a lot better.” He wasn’t that rubbish on a broom. True, his brooms had broken during the first two flying classes, as had his wrist and his arm, but since he’d come across a broom that didn’t spontaneously die as soon as Merlin got in the air, he could hold his own during class.   
  
She grinned. “Don’t take it personally, though. If there was another way to gain a huge amount of house points she would take it, but you know she couldn’t care less about any of our necks. And if it’s a comfort, I care about your neck. I mean,” she added, “I don’t want it to break. I’ll try to catch the Snitch as fast as possible so you only have to spend a minimal amount of time on your broom.”   
  
Merlin managed a grateful smile. He hadn’t known how to ask ‘the pranksters’ to get his broom back out of Madam Hooch’s closet without explaining something he didn’t understand himself. Why had those brooms gone crazy when he climbed them? Why didn’t the one that he’d found? Emrys knew. And would a random broom still spontaneously die now that he’d gotten better at flying, and had some flying hours under his belt? He didn’t look forward to finding out.   
  
Pixie patted his shoulder once more and dropped her hand. “Let’s go get breakfast.”   
  
Daegal and Gili were standing off to the side, and Merlin gestured for them to come along.   
  
  
  
The Great Hall was buzzing with noise. They were the last Slytherins to enter, and some students had already left to get an early start on their weekend. Merlin hunched over his cereal bowl and closed himself off from the noise. He was used to quiet mornings, birds’ song waking him up and accompanying him as he ate dried meat or plucked berries, not the deafening echo of hundreds of students falling over each other to tell each other their plans for the weekend.   
  
“FRED WEASLEY!”   
  
Merlin dropped his spoon, clutching his chest as his heart pounded rapidly at the shout. Everyone was staring at the letter that hung in the air in front of Fred’s face, its folds forming a mouth to shout at him in a voice loud enough to cross the entire Great Hall.   
  
“You’re GROUNDED for the REST OF THE YEAR! Poor Errol went MISSING for WEEKS! Your father and I had to go looking for him, and DO YOU KNOW WHERE WE FOUND HIM? STUCK in a TREE because you TIED him to a BLOODY TOILET SEAT! He almost STARVED to DEATH! You almost KILLED our family owl! Don’t even THINK about USING ERROL EVER AGAIN!”   
  
With that it opened its mouth wide open and ate itself. A shred of paper hit Fred in the eye, breaking the moment, and everyone started laughing while Fred sat there looking stunned.   
  
At that moment the tables were cleared of all the remaining food. Elyan thumped the now-empty table top, guffawing.   
  
“What was that about?” Merlin’s hand left his chest and fell in his lap, mourning the lack of cereal to scoop up.   
  
Elyan sniggered. “He sent his mother a toilet seat for Christmas.”   
  
The voice had been his mother’s then. Merlin vowed that if he ever met her, he would do his best not to piss her off.   
  
“I don’t know about a white one,” Merlin said, “but it’s bound to be a frosty Christmas for him.”   
  
Elyan nodded, his eyes bright with laughter, and tugged Merlin up. “Let’s go.”   
  
They hurried towards the doors, but with the food gone, the room was emptying like a water balloon with a leak, and they got stuck in a stream of students. A hand appeared on both of their shoulders and dragged them out of the mass, towards a side corridor. When they turned around, Fred was looking down at them. “Now now, not so fast.”   
  
George appeared next to Fred. He folded his arms.   
  
“Elyan, care to explain how my mother knew that _I_ ’d sent it to her?”   
  
Merlin took a step aside, choosing to minimize his involvement. While Fred’s eyes were crinkled, his smirk was a bit too much like...a smirk, really, betraying just how sweet his revenge would be.   
  
Elyan put his hands in his pockets, but stood tall in the face of his impending doom. “Sometimes,” he began, “you _should_ look a gift horse in the mouth.”   
  
Fred raised an eyebrow. George stretched his arms languidly.   
  
“Remember that bow I wrapped around the seat?”   
  
Fred’s eyebrow climbed higher on his forehead. He nodded slowly.   
  
“I spelled your name on the bow.”   
  
Elyan flashed them a brilliant smile, and George threw his head back and let out a booming laugh. He clapped Elyan on the back. “You, my friend, are in so. Much. Trouble.”   
  
Then he left, saying over his shoulder, “Don’t be too hard on him, Fred. I like him.”   
  
Worse, Fred just smiled, first at George’s back, then at Merlin and Elyan, and said, “Enjoy your weekend,” before leaving as well.   
  
Elyan gulped. “Shit.”   
  
Merlin patted him on the shoulder, much like Pixie had done with him. He wasn’t feeling too sympathetic. Elyan had, after all, brought this onto himself. “Look on the bright side,” he said. “We have Quidditch practice, so with some luck the girls won’t leave enough of you for Fred to get back at.”   
  
Elyan smiled, but his eyes screamed despair.   
  
  
  
Helen, Pixie, Lamia, Mab, Vivian, Forridel, and Sophia were already waiting on the practice field, dressed in their green outfits, eyeing the boys as they approached. Most of them had already been a part of the opposing team, and so they didn’t waste any time in grabbing their brooms. Merlin picked up the last one and, to his horror, it shuddered in his hand.   
  
At least its movements didn’t worsen when he walked towards the hoops, where Katrina was motioning for everyone to gather around.   
  
“Warming up for fifteen minutes. Take a few laps around the field, find your focus, and listen for my whistle.”   
  
Everyone mounted their brooms. Merlin got on his as well, stiffening when its shudders increased.   
  
“Steady now.”   
  
Everyone was up in the air, leaving Merlin alone on the ground, so his talking to inanimate objects wouldn’t be overheard.   
  
“It’s just a couple of laps. Nothing crazy.”   
  
He laid a hand on the broom. As soon as he touched it, the broom’s shudders turned into shakes.   
  
“Got a problem, Ambrosius?”   
  
Katrina descended towards him.   
  
“My broom—”   
  
The broom fell still for a second before a small crack appeared. It shuddered one more time and an outburst of energy exploded from the broom. Merlin felt the wave of energy hit him squarely, and he flew backwards. He didn’t have time to brace himself as he flew through the air. Pain exploded in his head. Then, nothing.   
  
**   
  
Pomona Sprout hummed as she fed the Chinese Chomping Cabbage a carrot. The cabbage chomped loudly, and she waited for it to swallow before offering another piece. It took the piece and butted her hand.   
  
Her plants were much like pets. They required constant care and attention, not to be bound to weekends and holidays, although they always noticed when the school-free days came around, growing higher towards the sun, and spreading their leaves wider, revelling in the absence of students who never quite knew how to handle the plants.   
  
Someone knocked and the cabbage shrank away. Gaius entered with an apologetic look on his face.   
  
“Gaius! What brings you here?”   
  
Pomona put down the bowl with carrots, wiped her hands on her robes, and carded a hand through her curls. The Chinese Chomping Cabbage pursed its lips.   
  
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Madam Sprout, but do you have some spare dittany? I’m all out and they just brought in someone with a fractured skull.”   
  
She dropped her hand. “Do call me Pomona, Gaius. Haven’t we know each other too long for such formalities?”   
  
Gaius inclined his head.   
  
“Not that you look it. You don’t look a day over 40.”   
  
Did she imagine it or was that a faint blush on his cheeks? It must be! He was enjoying this as much as she.   
  
“I eat a handful of linseeds every morning. Keeps the wrinkles away.” Pomona winked. “And it keeps your drive strong, if you know what I mean.”   
  
Gaius was definitely blushing now. She giggled, and fluttered her eyelashes.   
  
He cleared his throat. “About that dittany?”   
  
“Oh, dear, I’d already forgotten! One moment, please.”   
  
She tried to walk more elegantly as she went to get the plant, but her boots clunked heavily on the ground and the plants and herbs that were placed left and right forced her to manoeuvre in between them. Manoeuvring was never sexy.   
  
In the back of the greenhouse, she picked up her hat first, dusting it off, and then the dittany. When she got back, Gaius had his hands entwined, looking solemn.   
  
A shudder went up her spine. “Here you go. You really ought to visit more. The Mandrakes will be arriving soon; I bet you would be so good at raising one.”   
  
Gaius looked down at his dittany, fiddling with a sprig. “I am confident that the students will raise them just fine under your guidance.”   
  
Pomona smiled. Gaius had just complimented her; he was such a gentleman.   
  
“I must take my leave now. There is a fractured skull that requires my immediate attention.”   
  
Pomona waved as he took his leave, sighing once the door closed behind him. What a saviour. If only she could be his damsel in distress.   
  
**   
  
Merlin was bored to tears. He had woken up to the taste of the vilest potion to ever have been created being poured into his mouth, and then consequently to the touch of a hand covering his mouth when he tried to spit it out. When he had broken his arm and wrist before, the potion Gaius had pushed on him had tasted of slugs. Merlin had thought that had been bad. But the taste that wouldn’t leave his mouth now compared better to slugs having an orgy and then being squished to death by a shoe covered in dung.   
  
Still it was nothing compared to the sheer boredom of being forced to lie around doing nothing during his cherished weekend. With no company. Unless one counted Gaius. Merlin did not count Gaius. The man had tried to talk about the medical qualities of leeches while he had Merlin trapped in bed.   
  
Merlin had pretended to fall asleep. People who had just hit their head on a Quidditch hoop were drowsy, weren’t they? But Gaius had taken that as his cue to tip another vial of slug-orgy-interrupted-by-death-and-dung into his mouth, saying that Merlin’s fractured skull should be all healed by now and if he still felt the effects, that was cause for worry, and leaving Merlin with no excuse to avoid being talked to.   
  
Then Snape had entered, raising an eyebrow at Merlin, which, really, it wasn’t Merlin’s fault that his broom had died a violent death and tried to drag Merlin with it! Fortunately, Snape’s arrival had interrupted Gaius’ story-telling and lured him away to the cluttered office in the corner. Once Snape had left, throwing a dry, “Don’t think this excuses you from your classes, Emrys,” at Merlin, Gaius hadn’t reemerged again.   
  
So with no company and without the permission to leave his bed, Merlin had nothing to do but think about the amount of boredom he was experiencing, and hope for rescue.   
  
At last the door opened to reveal someone nobler than Snape.   
  
“Elyan!” Merlin pushed himself upward and threw the blankets off of him.   
  
Elyan smiled at him and called for Gaius, who emerged, robes covered in feathers.   
  
“I have come to get Merlin with your leave.”   
  
“Naturally.” Gaius turned towards Merlin. “If you are involved in one more broom accident, I will keep you here until I have tested you for every mental affliction known to men. I have never known anyone to be so bad at flying, or to voluntarily keep putting themselves into a situation that they know will end with them in the infirmary.”   
  
Merlin opened his mouth to protest, but Elyan hurried to say, “Of course. I will make sure Merlin will keep that in mind.”   
  
Merlin scowled, but got out of bed. “Merlin is right here.”   
  
Gaius smiled and went back into his office.   
  
“His threats aren’t idle, you know,” Elyan said. “Protesting would have only made your case worse.”   
  
Merlin walked to the door, eager to get out before Gaius changed his mind. “Thanks for rescuing me. I was starting to think I’d have to climb out of the window using my bed sheets as a rope.”   
  
“You’re lucky I wanted to show you something. I still haven’t forgotten that you didn’t stand up for me against Fred.” Elyan winked.   
  
Merlin shrugged. “Can’t say I’m sorry about that. Fred is scarier than you.”   
  
Elyan didn’t oppose that.   
  
“What did you want to show me anyway?”   
  
“You’ll see.” Elyan gestured towards the students wandering through the hallways. “There’s no one to overhear, or see, in my room.”   
  
Once they’d made it through the common room—where Katrina, after scoffing when she saw Merlin, got up to scratch his name through for every practice, all the while looking him in the eye—and up to Elyan’s room, Merlin saw that Elyan had meant those words literally.   
  
By all rights, the room was exactly the same as Merlin’s: the chest of drawers at the foot of the bed, the wand holder on his nightstand, the desk with a standard set of quills pushed against the wall, the silver rug underneath the bed, the green velvet bed curtains for privacy. Except Elyan didn’t need the privacy. Unless one suspected the fish to be highly sentient, there was no one to shield himself from.   
  
“You sleep alone?”   
  
Elyan sat down on his bed, toeing out of his shoes, and patted the spot next to him on the covers. “I’m the only one in my year.”   
  
Merlin sat down, scooting himself to sit across from Elyan, tucking his feet underneath him. “Isn’t it lonely?”   
  
Elyan gave him a wry smile. “Fred and George keep me company sometimes.”   
  
The room was as big as Merlin’s. The furniture was in the middle of the room, in the exact same position Merlin’s had been before he’d switched with Daegal, but instead of being surrounded by other boys’ furniture, emptiness surrounded it like the ocean would an island. There was definitely space for two other boys.   
  
“Can’t you just share a room with Oswald and Ethan?”   
  
Elyan shook his head. “First week of school, I went up to Kilgharrah’s office. I told him how I would appreciate the opportunity to share sleeping quarters with them, seeing how they were older and could help me settle in. Because our father is a Muggle, we don’t know a whole lot about the wizarding world,” he explained. “But also that I wouldn’t be a burden to them. Their company alone would be nice enough.”   
  
Merlin furrowed his brow. “He didn’t agree?”   
  
Elyan lowered his voice and took on the enigmatic smile Kilgharrah permanently sported. “It is your destiny to wander the world alone and embrace solitude as a friend. People are either mortal or untrustworthy, so the one who learns not to depend on others is the most enviable of them all.”   
  
“What in the name of Emrys?”   
  
Elyan leaned back, his hands sinking into his pillow. “At least there’s no one to ask questions when Fred or George hide one of their experiments here. Or if my bed curtains catch fire because of it.”   
  
At Merlin’s raised brow, his only reply was, “Don’t trust them if they innocently ask you to keep something of theirs safe. The more innocent they look, the more suspicious you should be.”   
  
Merlin grinned. “Don’t trust anyone? Duly noted.”   
  
“Speaking of trust issues…” Elyan got off the bed and went to his desk. He picked up a piece of parchment and unrolled it. Its contents were complicated drawings, made of a stunning amount of lines and swirls. “I figured out the correct wand movements.”   
  
“You did?” Merlin jumped up and studied the drawing better.   
  
Elyan handed it to him. “So in theory, if we cast your spell on some water”—he grabbed a full goblet off his nightstand—”pour it out, and then cast the sticking-spell, we’ve got our alarm. Care to put theory into practice?”   
  
Merlin looked up from the parchment. “Who should do it? You or me?”   
  
“Well, it was your idea, so the honour should go to you.” Elyan handed him the goblet, and took the parchment back. “I’ll show you the correct movements.”   
  
Merlin, who hadn’t understood Elyan’s scribbling all that well, nodded. He took his wand, and repeated Elyan’s movements. They were complicated and had to be done perfectly. Whereas Transfiguration was about having an instinctual feel about magic, and about knowing exactly what Merlin wanted his object to change into, to _will_ it into transforming, Charms was a lot more theoretical. There was no leeway. Merlin had tried to find a way around memorising every word and every move with no result.   
  
Once Elyan was satisfied Merlin’s wand movements copied Elyan’s exactly, Merlin put the goblet on the floor and performed the spell. “Si quis hoc transit, incantatori dic!”   
  
The water rippled.   
  
He poured it out on the floor. “Liquor maneat in aeternum.”   
  
The water shimmered.   
  
Merlin threw the goblet on Elyan’s bed and lifted a shoe. He stepped over the puddle. Water cascaded down on him, breaking apart on his shoulders, engulfing him. The weight pulled at his clothes and dragged him down. There was water everywhere, and he couldn’t breath. He gasped for breath, but he was trapped by the wall of water.   
  
An arm pulled him backwards, and out from under the waterfall. “You okay?”   
  
Merlin shook his head to shake the water from his hair, but he was as dry as a bone.   
  
“You try it.”   
  
Elyan gave him a curious look before stepping over the puddle. For one second, Merlin was drowning again, his shoulders and head bruising under the water’s power. Then Elyan had crossed the water and the feeling disappeared.   
  
“It works.”   
  
Elyan pursed his lips. “Too well, if you ask me.”   
  
Merlin laughed. “ _Well?_ ”   
  
Elyan smiled despite himself. “Water you talking about?”   
  
**   
  
It was raining, because of course it was. Arthur used his cloak to shield his face from the raindrops as best as he could, but it was the sort of rain determined to reach every spot of his body.   
  
He wished he had his scarf he left back in his bedroom as he made his way to the Forbidden Forest to help protect himself from the rain more, but he knew that the red-gold would only attract attention. And when it did the teachers would know that the culprit was a Gryffindor—Arthur didn’t plan on hanging around if someone spotted him, but the colours were easy to spot and he didn’t want his house to lose points because of him.   
  
It had taken his tracking skills and a sprinkling of luck to ditch not only Madam Sprout, but also Filch, McGonagall, Flitwick, and the Hufflepuff prefect. Apparently they didn’t need free time, let alone sleep. Arthur wondered how he would deal with his patrolling duties once he became the Gryffindor prefect.   
  
Hopefully better than how he was dealing at the present with the lack of protection against the elements.   
  
Arthur cursed. Damn Morgana for challenging him. Damn all Slytherins for their need to prove themselves better than Gryffindors. And damn the weather. To get to the forest, he had to descend a hill that was scattered with rocks, invisible in the dark and slippery from the rain. He muttered, “Lumos,” holding his wand out in front of him.   
  
He definitely needed to win the duel. If he got hurt, climbing the hill would become even harder and more dangerous. Why had he agreed to this again? Right, because he had to prove his courage and, ultimately, his legitimacy as the balance-bringer. Fortunately Morgana was the only one who seemed sceptical about that; he didn’t care to make a habit out of duelling to defend his title.   
  
Arthur reached the bottom and hurried towards the cover of the trees. When he got closer, he wiped his brow. Morgana was already there, the light of her wand waving through the trees. He picked up pace. The sooner they got this over and done with, the better.   
  
“Morgana!” he hissed.   
  
The light stopped moving. Now that he got her attention, he returned his gaze to the ground. It wouldn’t do to slip in front of her. She’d never let him live it down.   
  
“Well, well,” a voice that definitely wasn’t Morgana’s said. It had the right amount of smugness, but it was too low, too male, for an 11-year-old girl.   
  
Crap.   
  
“A student out of bed, after curfew?” Professor Borden was smiling. “Looks like someone’s due for detention.”   
  
Arthur gulped. His father would be furious, even more so when he heard the reason. Especially now that Christmas was close and Uther had been intending to parade Arthur around at the party.   
  
“Professor, I—” Arthur hesitated. On the one hand he dreaded his father’s reaction enough to try to beg out of detention—Borden hadn’t shown any animosity so far, so he might be lenient—but on the other hand, Pendragons didn’t beg. They underwent punishment with their head held high, their honour intact. “I understand.”   
  
“Follow me.”   
  
Arthur held his wand low. They walked to a higher point along a trail that was as bad as the hill with its obstacles. This close to the forest, there were roots and snapped-off branches. His shoes and the bottom of his trousers were covered in mud, squelching louder with every step as his feet sunk deeper into puddles.   
  
Borden didn’t seem disturbed by the rain, his hair plastered to his skull, so Arthur gave up the fight with his cloak and gave the weather free reign. He already had detention and ruined clothes, wet hair wouldn’t make the difference now.   
  
Arthur was so focused on watching his steps that he nearly stumbled into Borden as he came to a stop. He looked up. They were standing in front of a wooden house.   
  
The curtains had been left open; there was no light on inside, whoever lived there either was not home or had gone to bed. Still Borden banged his fist on the door.   
  
A loud crash and two minutes later, the door swung open.   
  
“Tyr.”   
  
“Professor Borden,” a bed-raggled Tyr said. “Sir.”   
  
Borden pointed towards Arthur. “This student has been found wandering near the Forbidden Forest after curfew. He needs to serve detention immediately.”   
  
Tyr’s eyes flicked towards Arthur. He opened his mouth, a frown on his face. “I—”   
  
“Weren’t you investigating the Forbidden Forest because of those unicorn killings?” Borden waltzed over him.   
  
“I am, sir.”   
  
“Continue your search tonight, and take this boy with you.”   
  
_Isn’t the Forbidden Forest out of bounds for students?_ Arthur wanted to ask. _Isn’t that part of the reason why I’m getting detention?_   
  
But Borden looked at him with a knowing look on his face.   
  
Pendragons accepted their punishment. Right. Arthur nodded once, grimly.   
  
Tyr scratched his head. “Are you sure, sir?”   
  
“Make sure it is done,” Borden said. “Then the boy can celebrate Christmas with a clean slate.”   
  
Somehow, Arthur doubted that a lot of celebrating would be happening. He just nodded once more, this time at Tyr.   
  
Tyr shrugged and said, “Of course, sir.”   
  
“Don’t stop before you find something. Goodnight.”   
  
Borden walked away, leaving Arthur with Tyr.   
  
Ten minutes later Arthur was following Tyr into the Forbidden Forest, with nothing but a rusty lantern and a pink umbrella to protect them.   
  
“What are we looking for, sir?”   
  
Tyr shook his head. “Don’t call me sir! I’m just Tyr.”   
  
Arthur shrugged, but then realised that Tyr wouldn’t see it, so he said to Tyr’s back. “Okay, Tyr. Professor Borden mentioned unicorn killings?”   
  
Tyr stopped to shut his umbrella. The branches overhead had grown so big and crowded that they formed a roof, blocking the forest from light and rain.   
  
Tyr turned towards Arthur, leaning on his umbrella as if it were a walking stick. “These woods hide many things, Arthur. Both good and bad. But lately it has been terrorised by an evil. Someone has been killing unicorns.”   
  
“Don’t lots of animals get killed though? Survival of the fittest and all that?”   
  
Tyr widened his eyes. “Unicorns are the purest, most innocent creatures to exist! Killing them is like killing a baby!”   
  
“Okay,” Arthur said. Tyr seemed like someone who would find a spider in his bath and insist on freeing it instead of flushing it down the drain, so he wasn’t sure if this was an ‘all animals must live’ case, or something genuinely upsetting. As a hunter, there weren’t a lot of animals whose death Arthur could find upsetting.   
  
“And they weren’t killed by another animal. The corpses I’ve found were all missing organs.” Tyr started walking again, taking Arthur along a trail that winded itself through the forest.   
  
“To sell them?”   
  
“Or to use them for a spell. The blood and body of unicorns can be used for immensely powerful magic.”   
  
Arthur ducked underneath a low-hanging branch. “So why aren’t they used more often? I’m not saying unicorns should be killed! But they have to die eventually, don’t they?”   
  
Tyr’s voice went soft and childlike when he spoke next, “They don’t.”   
  
Arthur didn’t reply, taking a moment to let this information sink in. He had always thought immortality was just a myth. Even with all the magic in the world, time couldn’t be stopped or held back. Knowing that unicorns weren’t bound to this one fundamental law, was scary, like the rules had been rewritten and anything was possible.   
  
Tyr stopped again, looking Arthur straight in the eye. “Whatever you do, if you ever find a dead unicorn, bury it. Don’t use its body for your own purposes. It’s not yours to take.”   
  
“Okay.”   
  
Content with Arthur’s promise, Tyr continued the journey in silence, and Arthur didn’t feel inclined to talk either. It was only when Arthur couldn’t suppress his yawns anymore, that he asked, “So what exactly are we looking for?”   
  
“Unicorn blood. It’s silver and lights up in the dark.”   
  
Just then something caught Arthur’s eye. “Would you say it also sparkles a bit?”   
  
“Yes,” Tyr said. “Why?”   
  
“Something like that, then?” Arthur pointed towards the puddle that had formed underneath a bush.   
  
Tyr gasped. He pushed Arthur behind his back, moving his lanterns back and forth. “Stay behind me. The murderer could still be here.”   
  
Arthur gripped his wand, looking over his shoulder and peering into the darkness that enclosed them, barely held at bay by the light.   
  
They walked towards the bush, Tyr making as much noise as possible, as Arthur tried not to stare at him, needing to keep an eye out for other people. “We are armed! Don’t try to attack us, because you _will_ regret it!”   
  
The threat wasn’t impressive, considering how Tyr’s voice shook, but the thought of having scared away anyone who might have been lurking here, seemed to reassure Tyr, for he burst through the bush, wielding his umbrella like a wand.   
  
The unicorn looked like she had been a majestic creature once, but now she was a gory corpse. The once stark white fur was covered in blood, her neck was snapped, her manes cut, and where her horn had been, there was nothing but a gaping, oozing wound. Her belly was cut open. The bowels were strewn about, discarded in whoever’s search for the valuable organs.   
  
Arthur gagged. Acid burned in his throat. He turned around and spit. It wasn’t much, and left a sour taste in his mouth. He looked at his sleeve, to see if wiping his mouth had left stains. He looked at the ceiling of the forest, wishing for the rain to find a way through, so he could rinse his mouth. He looked behind them, afraid to get caught unawares and end up like...like…   
  
He looked at the unicorn. Arthur had seen plenty of dead animals. It came with hunting. But spelling a branch to fall right when a deer passed underneath, or magically trapping a rabbit in an oxygen-free bubble was nothing like slaughter. His animals’ corpses were kept clean, free of external wounds. This…this was mutilated beyond recognition.   
  
Tyr’s breath hitched. He knelt next to the corpse and stroked her ears.   
  
“Wingardium Leviosa.” A unicorn-sized rectangle of forest ground, full of mud and leaves and insects, lifted, and Arthur steered it next to the hole that had been created in the ground.   
  
Tyr looked at Arthur with eyes that shone with tears.   
  
Arthur’s cheeks warmed, and he kicked a twig. “You said to bury them.”   
  
Tyr got up and clasped Arthur’s hands within his. “Thank you.”   
  
Arthur’s blush deepened and he pointed towards the unicorn. “We should bury her, so we can head back. There’s nothing we can do for her anymore.”   
  
Tyr wiped at his eyes, sniffling his nose, and nodded. “I don’t...I mean, I can’t...Could you...?”   
  
Arthur said, “Wingardium Leviosa,” and the unicorn floated in the air. He half-expected that she would be too heavy for him, but it felt just the same as lifting a feather or a pile of mud.   
  
Tyr held her limbs and head, guiding them in the grave as Arthur lowered her. Then he covered her with the mud.   
  
Suddenly a piece of cloth caught his eye, on the spot where the unicorn had been lying. Arthur picked it up. It was crumpled and dirty. It must have been squished in the mud by the unicorn’s weight.   
  
Arthur shook it a bit, and it fell open. He gaped at it.   
  
“What’s that?” Tyr asked, peering at it curiously.   
  
“A neckerchief.” Arthur’s voice hardened. “ _Merlin’s_ neckerchief.”   
  
“Who’s Merlin?”   
  
“A Slytherin. The only person in the entire school who even owns a neckerchief.”   
  
Arthur gripped the rag so hard his knuckles turned white. He may have a low opinion of Slytherins, but he’d sooner expect them not to turn up at a duel and warn a teacher that someone was out after curfew than to slaughter unicorns and mutilate their corpse.   
  
“Let’s go back and calm down before deciding what to do.”   
  
Arthur may have nodded, but his mind was already set. He was going to go to the Headmaster and get rid of that murderer.   
  
  
  
Tyr’s idea of calming down turned out to be making a cup of tea and sit on the sofa. Arthur was squished between him and an array of fluffy pillows. He sipped from his cup and looked around.   
  
The house was cluttered, on the fence between cosy and messy. There was one sofa facing the fireplace, which Arthur eyed suspiciously. He was not a fan of fireplaces in wooden houses. Especially not when most of the furniture was wooden as well—the kitchen table and chairs on the left side of a tiny kitchen; the bed in the right corner, covered by a quilt; the drawers and closets....   
  
To make his unease worse, on top of the fireplace there was a mantel covered with wooden ornaments, except for an egg in the middle. The egg was white with blue, looking smooth, and extraordinary large.   
  
“What’s that?”   
  
Tyr perked up. He got up and picked up the egg, cuddling it close to him. He held it out for Arthur to touch. The shell was rough with bumps everywhere.   
  
“It’s a dragon egg,” Tyr whispered.   
  
“A what?” Arthur pulled his hand away, eyeing it with suspicion. Dragons were monsters. It had been years since a dragon had escaped its reservoir, flying away when his handler got a stroke, and it had landed in a nearby village. The destruction had been unparallelled. Houses had been crushed with people still inside. The ones who ran got blasted away by its fire, and one man had been eaten.   
  
“Isn’t it wonderful?”   
  
Arthur stared. This man was a lunatic. Best not to let him know, though.   
  
“How did you even find this?”   
  
“You wouldn’t believe it! It’s the most amazing coincidence.”   
  
Arthur hid his face in his mug.   
  
“I was out, the other night, going to this quaint little cafe in Hogsmeade, when I heard a man blasting his luck. Apparently he’d bought this egg, because he’d been told that it contained some exotic creature. But he just couldn’t get it to hatch, so he said that he could just as well smash it and eat its contents. Then he got at least a meal out of the deal.”   
  
Arthur raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment.   
  
“So I asked if I could take a look, because I know a thing or two about animals, I said. I couldn’t believe my eyes! Me, seeing a dragon egg!”   
  
“Did he sell it to you?”   
  
Tyr shook his head vigorously. “He gifted it to me! Wanted to know for sure that I could take good care of animals, even the dangerous ones. So I said to him that my pet is a three-headed dog, and that once you figure out what he loves, it’s just the same as a puppy.”   
  
Arthur’s head swivelled around and he grabbed a pillow, clutching it to his chest. “You have a three-headed dog?! Where?”   
  
“I’m sorry, you won’t get to see Fluffy. He is somewhere else at the moment.”   
  
Arthur didn’t feel all that sorry, and eased back in the sofa.   
  
“He was a very kind man. People were avoiding him, because they were scared he was hiding something nasty under that hood of his. But if you give people a chance, you’ll see that they’re nice. Except for that unicorn-killer.” Tyr put down his mug with a thud and his mouth tightened into a narrow line. “So what are we going to do about him?”   
  
Arthur got up, dropping his pillow, and put his mug next to Tyr’s. “I’m going to go to Headmaster Kilgharrah. I’ll take care of it.” Before Tyr saw Merlin, decided that he looked like another charity-case, and adopted him.   
  
Tyr bit his lip. “Are you sure?”   
  
Arthur walked towards the door.   
  
“Trust me.”   
  
**   
  
“So, have you decided yet how you’re going to get back at him?”   
  
Fred put another marshmallow on his wand and held it above the fire. He watched it brown for a while before answering. “Make him sweat for a bit. Any letter I send during the holiday will make him worry that it’s filled with itching powder or bespelled to grow hair on his hands whenever he—”   
  
George shushed him. “Think of the children!” he whispered dramatically.   
  
Jordan and Michael furrowed their brows, while Jessica giggled. They were seated on the floor in half a circle around he and Fred, first-years who were still impressionable by their antiques.   
  
“Maybe we should go find him, enjoy your power for as long as possible before he decides that you’ve forgotten about his betrayal and won’t do anything?” George grinned. He was not enjoying Fred and Elyan’s ‘feud.’ Nope. It was not great when someone who wasn’t George pranked Fred and would feel the burn of his revenge. Not at all.   
  
Fred pulled back his wand and popped it into his mouth. He sucked off the marshmallow and said, wand still in his mouth, “Gweat idea!”   
  
“Sorry, guys,” George said to Jessica, Michael, and Jordan. “Duty calls.”   
  
Jessica replied, “Bring some marshmallows for us next time?”   
  
“Remember to always use someone else’s wand,” Fred said. “If you accidentally drop it in the fire, you’ll still have yours.” Fred handed his wand to George. “That’s what I always do.”   
  
George stared at the spit-covered wand in his hand. “Oh, you—”   
  
“Think of the children,” Fred mimed back and hurried out into the corridor.   
  
George ran after him, catching Fred at the bottom of the stairs and trapping him in a headlock, and gave him a noogie.   
  
Fred tapped George’s leg in defeat. George let him go, but not before wiping his wand off on Fred’s cloak.   
  
“So, Elyan?” Fred asked, dimpling his cheeks. George only wished he knew how to do that, because it would get him out of a lot more trouble than his version of an innocent face did.   
  
George acquiesced, and Fred pulled out the map after checking that no one was watching them.   
  
“Would you look at that.”   
  
“What?”   
  
Fred shoved the map under George’s nose.   
  
“Would you look at that, indeed,” George said.   
  
There, on the map, were two dots walking in the East part of the dungeons.   
  
Without another word, they walked towards the ground level. They settled on a bench in a deserted hallway, with Fred checking the map from time to time to see if Elyan and Merlin were returning yet.   
  
After twenty minutes, Fred said, “They’re coming back. They seem to be heading towards the entrance we used last time.”   
  
“Let’s go.”   
  
Side by side they made their way to the staircase. They were walking against the stream, but the crowd parted to let them through. It was approaching noon and students were making their way to the Great Hall.   
  
Fred groaned. “This better not take too long. I’m hungry!”   
  
“You just ate a whole bag of marshmallows.”   
  
“To prepare my stomach for the real stuff!”   
  
George shook his head and turned left. “We’re here. What’s their whereabouts?”   
  
Fred whispered, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”   
  
As they watched, ink appeared on the map, and their part of the castle was drawn. George didn’t wait to see their own two dots, and instead scoured the lines outlining the dungeon.   
  
“They’re nearing.”   
  
Fred closed the map.   
  
George folded his arms and leaned against the wall, near the opening through which Elyan and Merlin would be arriving. He sighed. It stung that their friends had gone behind their backs. Merlin had seemed genuinely worried when Fred and he had considered making another trip to the dungeons. So what was he doing down there with Elyan? And why had neither of them felt they could tell them?   
  
Fred nudged him. “I’m sure they have an explanation.”   
  
The sound of footsteps reached their ears, and they went to stand at the top of the stairs, arms folded.   
  
Merlin and Elyan saw them right away. They both looked surprised, but it seemed as though it was more of a good surprised than bad. As if their presence added to the fun instead of ruining the party.   
  
George tapped his foot.   
  
“Do my eyes deceive me, Fred?” He cocked his head.   
  
“I don’t know, George. What are your eyes trying to convince you of?”   
  
“At the present they’re telling me that Merlin, who vowed to stop anyone from entering the dungeons, has just gone there himself!”   
  
Fred gasped. “No, but, my eyes are telling me that too! It can’t be!”   
  
“Haha,” Merlin said dryly. “Very funny, guys.”   
  
“What are the pair of you up to?” George said, dropping his smile and taking on a serious note.   
  
As he dropped his arms and straightened his head, he saw the blur of a face from the corner of his eye. He turned his head to see who was eavesdropping on them, but all he caught was a glimpse of blond hair and a Gryffindor scarf before they hid behind the corner.   
  
“You just said it yourself,” Merlin replied at that moment. “Making sure that no one enters the dungeons. Not without my knowledge.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Work In Progress. I have no idea how long it will take to finish the story, and I make no promises for daily/weekly/monthly/... updates. Admittedly, I was hoping to get some of my mojo back, to get inspired by comments, so be sure to leave some feedback!


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